Enter the Quaniverse

La Balancoire, meaning ‘the swing’, is a tiny bistrot in Montmartre, on a quiet side street. It was already on a list of restaurants I was meaning to try when a lovely intern at work told me it’s her favourite restaurant. Usually, when I go to a restaurant, the focus is on the food, but this bistrot offered a full package.

We were super-charmed by the service; the waitress was charming, sweet and helpful, and the waiter was dead cool. The magnets in the tables that made the forks sit at a funny angle made me laugh out loud. The tables are cosy and close together, but the atmosphere is really charming. Online booking for a reservation was easy as pie. I was also amused that for both entrees and desserts they offer a mixed plate for the ‘indecisive’; a great selection of wine, and I also like a small menu that offers enough choice but is clear that they’re focusing on a few quality plates or specialties. And I hear they switch up the offerings quite often.

In any case, I had the indecisive starter: a beautiful soup, some delicious foie gras, and an inventive salad, full of different textures and deep-fried chèvre cheese. I had the burger for a main, which was a nice gourmet take on fast food: great chips, good-quality meat, a tiny brioche bun with cheese melted on top of it. My better half was pleased with his salad as an entree and confit of duck as a main, falling appropriately off the bone. The only problem is that we were both too full to try dessert…

6 rue Aristide Bruant
75018 Paris
France 

Surprised to find out this is a chain of restaurants. We had a very pleasant and simple lunch the other day, hiding from the rain. As non-Parisians, we still don’t remember that the outside terrace is a cancer cupboard (i.e. for smokers); we automatically think it would be nice to sit outside until the smoke starts wafting over. In any case, my ravioli, a special of the day with ham and cream and peas, was delicious, and my better half’s soft polenta with a truffled egg was especially good. And the prices were reasonable, I’d guess that the bistrots on the corners of Place Victor Hugo would all be charging extra euros for the privilege of sitting in the round… Also: nice service.

Fuxia L’Epicerie
91 ave Raymond Poincaré
75016 Paris 

Le Petit Bleu has made it onto a number of lists of recommended restaurants in Montmartre. It is a tiny, cramped, unassuming restaurant at the bottom of one set of stairs off to the east of Sacre Coeur. We arrived just after it opened one evening and managed to get the last table. There are three categories of food on the menu: couscous, tagine and various grilled proteins. Tagine would not be available until later that evening, we were told (which I thought made for a tricky calculation if you wanted it; how would you arrive late enough to get tagine, but get a seat?).

In any case, I ordered the Couscous Royale, which, as you can see, had everything on it (and came with a small pitcher of broth) and my better half had lamb. I’ve often wondered about the popularity of couscous in Paris, and what makes it special. At the Grand Mosque last year, I was impressed with the pastries… and thought the couscous was nice enough, but nothing special.

After dining at Le Petit Bleu, I finally understand. The wonderful stewed vegetables (a bit of everything: carrots, zucchini, turnip maybe or artichoke heart) were matched with meat that was really charred, the flavour of the grill so delicious. Even the falafel was crisp and grilled. And then the couscous itself was a marvel. How was it that I could spoon the delicious broth over it, and yet the grains remained separate: fine, light and delicate? They never got mushy (like my mushy homemade couscous, I can never get the technique right). So for 15 euros, to be introduced the wonders of a great couscous, I was very thankful.

The service was hilariously grouchy. Well, one of the waiters is friendly and charming and the other (the owner?) is gruff and direct, as if he doesn’t really want your business, because with people clamouring to get in, and calling in their take-out orders, it’s not like he has to be nice. I think sometimes North Americans eating in Paris don’t appreciate that abrupt service is just part of the charm of dining out; take it as a little bit of local colour.

23 rue Muller
75018 Paris
France

A little daytrip to Amiens, north of Paris, and we ascertain that the local specialty is La Ficelle Picarde. Wikipedia (should we trust Wikipedia?) says ‘its origins appear based in Amiens’ l’hôtel du Commerce where a chef developed it in 1950, notwithstanding some legends stating the dish originated in the era of Louis XIV.’

I kind of love that you can go to different towns and cities in France and they all claim local specialties which may not be that different than other types of food. On the other hand, we’d never tried this local delicacy. We went to the humble Square Cafe, with a lovely view onto the Place with a gorgeous flowering cherry blossom tree. Spring cometh! They played contemporary music videos, reminding how terrible some of today’s music is, and the service was cheery amusing. We asked for a lunch menu, and the waiter said, ‘I’m the menu’ before he told us what we could order.

So, the local specialty is a crêpe, rolled up, with ham and mushrooms, a lovely bit of cheese melted crisply on top, and swimming in cream. What’s not to love?

It looks like the bar devolves into a raucous drinking hole in the evenings, as there was a Jagermeister dispensing machine, numerous beer specials posted behind the bar, and in front, possibly, patrons from the night before? It was 1pm. They were really drunk. Local food, local flavour, we enjoyed it! In fact, my better half was particularly taken my the Ficelle Picarde. Oh my god… was his compliment.

My latest advice for anyone visiting Paris is to combine art with pastries, two things that Paris excels at. After hanging out in Beaubourg for three weeks, I moved to a little chambre de bonne on the left bank and I really enjoyed the neighbourhood. Now being branded as the Carré Rive Gauche, there are dozens of tiny galleries with the most amazing antiques as well as contemporary art. I loved wandering in and practising my French with the gallery owners and staff. It’s a great thing to do, say, on a Saturday afternoon (if you’re having to work during the week) or basically any weekday afternoon.

But gosh, it’s tiring. Well, not really. But use it as an excuse to say you need some really good pastry as fuel for more art. Rue du Bac, a major street running through the neighbourhood, has an amazing amount of high-end pastry and chocolate stops. The first stop was at Des Gateaux et Du Pain. And it’s really weird to be intimidated by a pastry shop. It is so expensive looking, so beautiful and shiny, the service so formal, that instead of a 6 or 7 euro pastry, I wondered whether I was accidentally buying a 200 euro leather wallet, from Hermes.

In any case, listen: this was a really delicious pastry, and I’d recommend you try one. Clair Damon is apparently making a name for herself (or already has) and my Mont Blanc, a combination of cassis and chestnut was interesting as well as delicious.

While the first shop went for an understated name, the second shop is nearly the opposite, the Patisserie des Rêves, though I’m not sure whether they’re implying that this is simply a pastry shop of dreams, or of ‘your dreams’ or just ‘dreamy pastry’. In fact, if these scary bunnies appeared in my dreams, I would be worried, I reckon. Rather than cute, I find them somewhat sinister.

Inside, it’s kind of sinister too, with each pastry in its own display case, and more of those damn bunnies. I went on a crowded day, and there was a real sense of anticipation about getting a treat! Online reviewers have various favourites but the woman I asked said their real signature was the Paris Brest.

I ordered just one, and got to carry it home in this marvelous triangular carrying case. I find that the packaging at Paris pastry shops reminds me of shopping in Japan. On the one hand, I think: ‘gross overpackaging’. But on the other hand, I find the packaging appealing, clever and pretty.

Sadly, my consumer instincts beat out the environmental ones.

In any case, it wasn’t just the packaging that was pretty. Look at this thing. Six perfect little pastry choux, joined together, and packed absolutely filled with a praline cream. The choux was perfectly crisp, the cream lush and sweet.

In fact, to be honest, I found it a bit too rich… which is not something I normally say. If a French person told me this was definitely the best Paris Brest ever, I’d believe her; I’m just not sure it’s my favourite of the French desserts.

Here’s the thing: oysters. Being March, a month with an ‘R’ in it means that it’s still oyster season here in France, and a woman at work had recommended that I try some. So it was convenient that it was on the menu at a humble bistro in Montmartre that advertises that you will be greeted by members of the same family who have run it since 1909. Just a little bit of history there. Chille, my old pal from Brussels, tells me that the French eat oysters even when they’re getting milky, but the Belgians think that’s disgusting. In any case, these were not milky… and they were beautiful. Very little salt taste; rather it was a very gentle and delicate flavour. Chille also warned me off the sharp vinaigrette that came in a small accompanying bowl, for how would you taste any oyster at all with such a strong flavour overpowering it? And what would be the point?

The menu, for three courses, was very reasonable and we added to it a special bottle of red as recommended by the waiter. I had Coq au Vin, a sauce so rich and dark, I forgot I’d ordered chicken until I cut into it. Nice flavours and hearty food, though I’ve found now twice in France that the chicken tastes less tender to me, and more tough. But perhaps that’s a good sign: less hormones and artificial fattening up.

For dessert, I opted to try the Diplomat cake which was a soft cake with colourful dried fruit pieces, swimming in custard. The piece was far too large to consume, though I tried. It had a pleasant homemade feel to it all.

All in all, I found the food hearty and traditional, reasonably priced, and tasty enough though not remarkable.

But the atmosphere is really lovely, you feel like you’re in a real local gem. The front bar was very crowded when we left, and in fact, the restaurant as a whole was really filling up (we’d opted for an earlyish 7:30 reservation). I thought the manager and staff were very charming and it did have that feeling of a charming family-run operation. Also, I like that their tablecloths are personalised…

On my better half’s first night in Paris this year, I thought we should go to a traditional French bistrot… and with the apt name ‘Le Bistrot de Paris’, and boasting famous clients like Serge Gainsbourg, this seemed like the right choice.

And indeed, everything felt so perfectly Parisian, so French, that it was a wonderful night. The menu is in orange ink on yellow paper with the smallest of letters. Neither of our aging eyes could read it without the flashlights from our iPhones! And the menu was so French that it was a little difficult to figure out… classics that we didn’t know were classics!

S. opted for the special of the day, lamb cutlets, and they were absolutely perfectly done in a rich glaze with crisp, small potatoes and baked garlic.

I had the skate (raie in French), which I find an interesting fish, with the extremely long flat bones, the perfectly long strips of dense white flesh. With capers and cubes of citrus (grapefruit) on top of a bed of spinach, this was very nice, but what made it nicer was a whole container of beurre noisette, which I could ladle on top of the fish.

We skipped appetizers in favour of desserts, and while I was expecting slightly boring traditional desserts, these ones were elevated. Both cream and ice cream in the middle of these profiteroles, pretty enough on their own (which I expected) and then suddenly the waiter swoops over and pours warm chocolate sauce over the trio.

I’d also had sickly sweet Rhum Baba before, round balls of it in a sauce, so didn’t expect that S’s would come as a big cake, sliced in half in front of us, with rum poured on top of the cake (and the bottle left, momentarily on the table, in case we wanted more) with whipped cream. It was damn good.

A final word is that both host and waiter were perfectly French, charming and efficient, in a slightly comical manner. I thought we were in a French theme park rather than a restaurant, it seemed both stereotypical to fulfil any expectations I had of a traditional, formal bistrot, but also a discovery to learn, to get the feel that this is how things are done in Paris. Bookings are easy to make online, via La Fourchette (The Fork).

Le Bistrot de Paris, 33 rue de Lille, Left Bank, a block away from the Musée d’Orsay.

So, outside the fancy cheese shop in my neighbourhood, Androuet, last Saturday was a woman involved in an intriguing and possibly delicious activity. On approach, I saw a large cauldron of elastic, doughy material, and learned that it was a mixture of potatoes and Cantal cheese. The other shopkeepers and wait staff on the street would rush out of their stores and ask what was going on, and put in an order. I couldn’t resist either.

The tradition of Aligot de L’Aubrac comes from the Midi-Pyrénées where the dish was apparently prepared for pilgrims heading to Santiago del Compostela. All the cheese and potatoes (and cream and garlic) come together in this lovely gummy mixture, a bit like uncooked gnocchi, I suppose, or really, really good mashed potatoes. It was delicious with a glass of red wine for lunch…

The person preparing all of this explained how hard work it was to stir the cauldron and then told the woman who was first standing there when I approached that the explanation for having the strength to do this was that she was obviously a man.

‘Or a woman that’s stronger than a man?’ I asked.

‘No. Definitely a man,’ was the reply.