Dining Old School in the New London

Image(Werewolves of London)

The food in London is getting better, the British are always declaring. “Yeah,” a cynical friend texted us as we boarded our non-stop to Heathrow, “but people have been saying that for thirty years.”

Both statements are true. Londoners haven’t been hidebound by pub grub, bad mutton and boiled beef since the Seventies, but no one will ever mistake its culinary scene for Paris, Tokyo or New York’s. But progress can be tasted all over town, as two generations of ambitious chefs have succeeded in creating a gastronomic identity for the country — one based on the bounty of local produce and the melting pot of cultures visible on every corner. The city is now a world capital as much as a British one, with gustatory delights available from every far flung corner of the globe.

But this trip wasn’t about hidden gems, updated Indian (Gymkhana, BiBi, Ambassadors Clubhouse), Uyghur eats, or Senegalese soups. We were here to sight-see, shop, and nosh in the toniest part of town (Mayfair) and show a London newbie (my big sis) how the British upper crust breaks their bread. For this I got some good-natured ribbing from London scribe/pen-pal Marina O’Loughlin who thinks about Mayfair the way I do the Las Vegas Strip (lots of money, little imagination) and is right to implore me to explore the cutting-edge culinary corners of the “new” London. Maybe next time.

Image(You see ’em prowlin’ ’round the kitchen door, better not let’em in)

We did take her advice for our first meal of the trip, however, heading straight from Heathrow to Shepard Market, for a cozy, jet-lagged dinner at Noble Rot. Fighting through the London fog of our sleep-deprived brains, we were warmed by an extraordinary bread basket, Parmesan snow-capped gougères, rib-sticking boudin noir with pickled quince, and a wedge of Cornish brill (Dover sole’s heftier cousin) napped in a soothing cream sauce speckled with smoked caviar. Desserts are suitably British (straight-from-the-oven apple cake), Italian-inspired (buttermilk panna cotta), and French perfected (chocolate choux bun/cream puff stuffed with brandied prune and hazelnut sauce). The place is basically an English spin on Parisian bistronomy —  combining a laid-back vibe with serious cooking, aimed at a knowledgeable clientele eager to see what the chef is up to, and the service was as warm as that apple cake.

In keeping with the name, the wine list was an oenophile’s wet dream — compelling by-the-glass selections; page after page of  producers both famous and obscure; and prices for every budget — all of it a far cry from the wine gouging we put up with in America.

After our gastropub English-French fusion, we were eager to go old school, something which hearkened back to the days of the British Raj.  While my family concentrated on taking Harrod’s. Selfridge’s, and Fortnum by storm, I dreamt of garlic naan, butter chicken, and Malabar fish curry. London is justifiably famous for its Indian food (at all price points) and we wanted a taste of the granddaddy of them all: Veeraswamy — a bastion of sub-continent cooking since 1926. Located on s second floor overlooking tony Regent Street, it is colorful, elegant, and formal — the sort of Indian restaurant that does not exist on this side of the pond.

The refinement this cuisine achieves in England is also surprising to those of us raised on indifferent tandoori, perfunctory service, and steam-tabled stews so crusted over they should be labeled with an expiration date. Here, the food is as brilliant and vivid as the colors of the room, and it envelopes your palate with sensations both delicate and intense –everything being very, but not excessively, rich. No mean feat that.

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You begin with papadum crisps so light they practically float off the table. With them are three chutneys of varying frutiness and heat, each a bracing palate-awakener. From there it’s all uncharted territory: tucking into exotica like Baghare Baingan (stewed eggplant curry), Grandma’s Spicy Egg Roast (served on a disc rice flour noodles, above), and beetroot croquettes with Stilton and green chili (below) — each dish as far a cry from the leaden, underspiced spicy food you might associate with this cuisine.

Image(No steam tables in sight)

This striking dissimilarity continued through the main courses. Butter chicken (murgh makhani) of astonishing amplitude, halibut in a Malabar coconut curry that respected the fish, and paneer tikka (roasted cubes of fresh cheese) which made you miss meat not at all.

Libations are as upscale as the surroundings Wines are well-matched to the food (this food creates thirst), and we zeroed in on a complex, off-dry German Riesling at 82 pounds/$90). Cocktails are surprisingly au courant for such a classic place.

The trouble with dining at Veeraswamy is it spoils you for a level of extravagance, ingenuity, and sumptuousness that is almost impossible to find in Indian restaurants over here. She may be pushing 100, but from where we were sitting (at the best table in the house overlooking Regent Street) there is plenty of life in the old girl yet.

(He’s looking through you, to the year 1498)

If there is one chef who embodies Britain’s gastronomic revolution, it would have to be the molecularly-obsessed Heston Blumenthal, whose Fat Duck in Bray has been the most famous restaurant in the country for most of this century. Not having the time or inclination to trek out of town for “bacon and egg ice cream”, instead we parked ourselves at a large round table at Dinner by Heston Blumenthal in the beyond-posh Mandarin Oriental Hotel to sample his avant-garde spin on traditional British dishes.

(Toto, we’re not in the Bellagio anymore)

One of the appeals of the place (besides his reputation, the gorgeous setting, inventive cooking, and spotless service) is the flexibility of ordering either a tasting menu or a la carte, depending on your level of interest or peckishness. Another pleasant surprise was letting you choose the degree of intensive care service you desire: three cards are offered for you to peruse and place one in the center of your table —  one asking for full explanations of the Blumenthal oeuvre with every dish, a middle option allows for identifying the dish and little else as it hits the table, and a third  requesting nothing but “here’s the plate and fare thee well” with every course. We put on our fanboy hat and asked for the Full Monty, and the staff indulged us with descriptions both pithy and informative, never taking more than a minute to describe the story behind every recipe.

Image(Pick your level of intrusion)

The cards are necessary because the entire historical catechism of British cookery is what informs this menu. Rather than modernizing old recipes, though, it’s more like Blumenthal uses them for inspiration to riff on the ingredients. Thus do you get Heston’s famous “meatfruit” (circa 1500) — a foie gras/liver parfait (encased in what looks like half a mandarin orange):

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Not to be stickler for details, but one doubts that the kitchens of Henry VII were having their agar-agar way with tangerine jelly.

The same could be said for “The Truffle” (a ping-pong ball of melanosporum butter disguised as a tuber) which also claims  an ancient birthright (c. 1500) on the menu . Regardless of genealogy, the results of both are so rich they should come with a tax return.

Image(Zero squabbles with this)

Main courses were lighter: a caramelized, roasted cauliflower with shiitake dressing, sea bass with a green sauce spiked with eucalyptus, and spiced squab, no doubt much less putrid  than the “hung” fowl of the 19th Century, but seasoned and sauced in a way Anthony Trollope might recognize.

We ended with a “Tipsy Cake” (a sugar-crusted sweet brioche, c. 1858), but I’m guessing the French claim it for a lot longer), and a platter of English cheeses at their peak, and left with the opinion that this kitchen, fourteen years on, hasn’t lost its fastball. You certainly don’t go to a Heston Blumenthal restaurant looking for bargains, but $1,000/4 US (about a third of that wine) for a dinner this inventive, precise, and polished, was a deal by American standards. The next time we’re in London, we can’t wait to see what edible historical artifact he is re-configuring next.

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If HB asks us to indulge his culinary flights of fancy, Saint Jacques, in the heart of St. James,  just steps from Berry Bros. & Rudd, requests nothing of its clientele other than a taste for well-rendered standards of la cuisine Française. Our meal tread no new ground, but a Beaufort cheese soufflé, veal kidneys in mustard sauce, an onglet frites of uncommon mineral-rich depth, and textbook creme brûlée were just what we needed to fortify ourselves for an afternoon of sightseeing in freezing weather. In keeping with the theme of the trip, the greeting and service couldn’t have been more cordial, even though we popped in without a reservation.

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A similar fate awaited us a few nights later at Scott’s. We arrived just as they opened, asked nicely, and were seated promptly. (Travel tip: if you don’t have a reservation go early, real early, as in, right-when-they-swing-the-door-open early. You’ll be surprised how often it works, except in hot new restaurants or rarefied-air gastronomic temples.) Scott’s is iconic for it’s seafood (since 1851), and we dove right into a dozen of the freshest oysters imaginable (served oddly with thumb-sized, chorizo-like sausage links), a shellfish bisque that tasted like an entire crustacean compressed into a bowl, and flawless fillets of seared sea bass and pan-fried Dover sole. Welsh rarebit (aka Welsh rabbit) — basically cheese toast with a higher education (below) — and piping hot madeleines completed things, and by the time we left, the restaurant was as full as we were.

Image(This rabbit made us very hoppy)

Despite the naysayers, there is much to recommend in gastronomic London. The seafood is nonpareil, chefs take great pride in their local ingredients, and the cooking palette has expanded to include ideas and techniques  from all over Europe. New school or old, the typical British reserve seems to have melted over the years, and the place is now so friendly, sometimes you’ll think you’re in Italy.

Take us home, Warren:

Major Awards 2024

50" Deluxe Christmas Leg Lamp Plain Cardboard Box

 

It’s award season, and true to yearly form, our wits are sharpened, appetite is keen, and patience at an end. So buckle up, pilgrim…

Its Going To Be A Bumpy Ride GIFs | Tenor

Best Restaurant That’s Closest to My House: Le Thai 2

Best Restaurant That No One Goes To: Jamon Jamon Woodfired

Best Restaurant That’s So Crowded No One Goes There Anymore: Esther’s Kitchen

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Restaurant That Deserves to be More Famous Than It Is: Ada’s Food + Wine– Don’t call it a wine bar any more. Jackson Stamper, Kat Thomas and James Trees have turned this corner of Tivoli Village into our town’s most adventuresome gastropub. Surf and turf in-your-face concoctions like nowhere else. Witness the coconut broth mussels above. Paired with a fascinating wine list at prices that won’t have you reaching for a respirator.

Fucktard of the Year Award: Fountainebleu – because after we pointed out what a rip-off the wine lists were throughout the hotel (and got a bit of traction for it on social media), the p.r. folks (and executives) went into full hose job mode, assuring me the hotel really “cared about locals” and wanted its restaurants (and wine lists) to be accessible to a wide range of customers, not just high rollers and rich douchebags. Waited a month and went back. Nothing had changed. Waited another month. Nada. Poked around a few weeks ago….if anything prices have gotten worse. (Good luck finding a bottle for less than $100, anywhere in the hotel.) Then they took the excellent burger off the menu at Don’s Prime because, as one insider told me: “It was getting too popular and people were buying it instead of $100 steaks.” In other words, everything about the place now screams “We’re only here to rip-off people with more money than sense,” and encapsulates everything we hate about late-stage Las Vegas.

F**k the Fountainebleu with a rusty corkscrew.

Speaking of hotels….

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Hotel(s) Whose F & B programs We Don’t Give a Shit About Anymore: Basically all of them except Wynn/Encore and Venetian/Palazzo. The opposite of love isn’t hate; the opposite of love is indifference.

Only Steakhouse That Gets Us to the Strip Without Too Much Kvetching: Peter Luger

Told You So Award: Lotus of Siam’s ill-fated partnership with Red Rock Hotel-Casino (see further discussion below).

Runner-Up:  The Sundry Food Hall at Uncommons – because everything about this place (from the ghost kitchens to the QR codes) was stupid from the jump.

Best Smashburger: Stay Tuned Burger – Hard Hat Lounge ($12):

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Burger of the Year: the pop-up, $15 semi-smash burger at Featherblade Craft Butchery:

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Enough Already Award: Smashburgers

Enough Already GIFs | Tenor

 

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Croissant of the Year: 1228 MainHear all about these mille-feuille marvels on Eat. Talk. Repeat. here.

Image(Let’s taco about how good these are..)

Tacos of the Year: Carnitas y Tortas Asahogadas (above)

Pleasant Surprise Award: Brasserie B by Bobby Flay, 6666 Ranch Steakhouse, Spring by Chinamama, Caramá – our degree of skepticism was only matched by how impressed we were by the food at each of these. If this keeps up, we may start getting excited by the food in Strip hotels again.

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Pancake(s) of the Year: Chamana’s Cafe’s blueberry and Winnie & Ethel’s banana-pecan  beauties (above and above)

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Hot Dog of the Year: Windy City Beefs ‘n Dogs loaded Chicago Dog (above)

Image(The 70s called, they want their color scheme back)

Image(Ash Watkins, calling all Ottomans!)

Turkish Pimp Bordello Award: Palate (above)

Dat Sum Dim Sum Award: Palette Tea Lounge (Yes, we know, it gets confusing.)

Image(Muchas gracias, Julian!)

Game Changer/Riding Into the Sunset Award: Julian Serrano – who retires after a quarter century of excellence, knowing his enthusiasm, dedication and haute cuisine chops changed the face of Las Vegas. Read more about Serrano’s legacy in this month’s Desert Companion Restaurant Awards (some of which were written by someone you might recognize).

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Never Again Award: Marché Bacchus (above) – because what was once a passion restaurant has become a money restaurant. The above pic was from a recent visit, at peak brunch hour (1:00 pm) on a Saturday. As my dad used to say: “All the people who aren’t eating there are trying to tell you something.”

Runner-Up: Lotus of Siam Red Rock Hotel and Casino – which is as close to the edgy, in-your-face flavors and authenticity of the real LOS as Bangkok is to the Bellagio.

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Underappreciated Award: The Legends Oyster Bar & Grill – for the freshest seafood (and fabolous ‘ersters, above) you’ll find, 250 miles from the nearest ocean. Also, now with a second location in Henderson!

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Brunch It and They Will Come Award: Mi Barrio – which answered the question: Just how bad can Mexican food get and still pull a crowd? Exhibit One (above): what they called a “Milanese” torta, and what we called shoe leather burnt to an inedible crisp. The prosecution has five more exhibits but will rest with this one. We didn’t think anything could make Casa Don Juan look good, but this place manages to.

F**k Mi Barrio and it’s slack-jawed, endless margarita crowd with a stale tortilla.

As long as we’re trashing mediocre Mexicans…

Mexican Disappointment of the Year: Los Molcajetes – what was once a favorite is now straight outta Sysco – proving that Mexican food can be just as terrible in the barrio as it is in the ‘burbs.

Phoning It In Award: Eater Vegas – for continuing to live down to expectations with nonsense like this:

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…which begs all sorts of questions: Why are two of the five “best restaurant” awards going to bars (with a third being more about “hanging” than eating)? Also, were there no contenders for “Grooviest Playlist” or “Best Chef Tattoos”? Shame. And finally: How far up their collective rectum did the Eater writer(s) have to reach for these?

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Wine Bar of the Year: Wineaux – slick, comfy build-out, good vibes (are you listening Eater?), beautiful food. One of the few joints that can induce us to travel 15 miles for a bite.

Italian(s) of the Year (toss-up): Brezza, Caramá, Vetri, Cipriani, Ferraro’s, Matteo’s – Las Vegas is lousy with Italian, but these are six of the best.

Unsung Italian Award: Aromi– make that seven.

Image(When you get a hankerin’ for Hunanese)

Chinese Meal of the Year: Xiang Wei Xuan (above)

Vietnamese Meal of the Year: YEN Viet Kitchen

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Podcast of the Year: Eat. Talk. Repeat.– Are we biased? Does the Pope wear a beanie? Does the Navy have ships? Does a wild bear sh____you get the point. YOU BET we’re biased! But no one has more fun covering the Vegas restaurant scene that we do. (CAN YOU PROVE IT ISN’T TRUE?)

Runner-Up: City Cast Las Vegas – the newsy, trendy, gossipy, informative-yet-fun podcast you need to be listening to, daily.

Snoop Dogg Overexposure Award, Sponsored by Martha Stewart, produced and presented by Snoop Dogg, after a very special exclusive interview with Martha Stewart and Snoop Dogg: Caviar

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Foie Gras of the Year: Mae Daly’s– a more luscious piece(s) of duck liver (prepared two ways) you will not find anywhere in Vegas.

IHOP With Better Architecture Award: Norm’s

Chinese Hegemony Award: China MamaComing out of Covid, CM’s original location rebounded with a vengeance. Then it (literally) caught on fire. So they moved the operation to Shanghai Plaza, and opened a satellite take-out address on Rainbow. When they re-open the original location early next year, and a Palace Station outlet, this once-humble Shanghai noodle parlor will have seven locations across the Vegas Valley. Expansion this fast doesn’t happen unless major investor $$$s are involved. So far, quality-control at all the branches remains high. Hao Chī (right down the street from my ‘hood) and Spring by China Mama, have hit all their marks from the get-go. But experience tells us they’re going to have to simplify their approach when they open in the Palace Station, which has, for twenty years, been a graveyard where good eats go to die.

Image(Mitsuo Endo at work)

 

Japanese Meals of the Year (tie): ENDO, Raku, Izakaya Go, Kaiseki Yuzu, Sushi Hiro

ENDO has the most exquisite Japanese food in Las Vegas, with two seatings nightly (for only six lucky souls) — but it’ll cost you, bigly. Figure a grand a couple once some sake is folded in. As with ‘e’ by José Andrés, definitely an experience every budding gastronome owes themselves. Kaiseki Yuzu is slightly easier on the wallet, and a bit less precious. The other three are restaurants we could go to once a week and never tire of the food, or the (relatively) gentle tariffs.

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Drop Dead View of the Year: Vetri Cucina (above) and (below):

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Worst Meal of the Year: fingernail pizza at The Bootlegger (see it and weep):

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Regrettable Trend of the Year: the corporatization of local brands (cf. Bacchus, Marche, Siam, Lotus of), by restaurant groups who swoop in, with ice water in their veins and profits on the brain, to ruin what was once a good thing, all the while cynically calculating that the hoi polloi won’t notice. We noticed.

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Trend That Needs to Die a Sudden, Violent Death: Black food…especially black hamburger buns.

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Don’t Fill Up On Bread Award: the glazed, salty-doughy-sweet, drool-worthy Parker House rolls (above) at Scotch 80 Prime  which you’ll be tempted to make a meal in themselves.

Image(At half off, you can’t beat this meat)

Deal of the Year: the end-of-summer happy hour menu(s) at Scotch 80 Prime – which more than a few restaurants could learn a lesson from during the cash-strapped dog days of summer.

Cut Above Award (Steaks of the Year): Mae Daly’s, Nicco’s, Peter Luger

Image(Meat me at Mae Daly’s)

Something on The Strip To Look Forward To Award: Fabio Trabocchi bringing his exquisite Mediterranean seafood to the Wynn at Fiola Mare set to open early next year.

Image(Seafood risotto at La Rosetta, Roma)

Meal(s) of the Year:

Restaurant Guy Savoy (Las Vegas)

La Tour D’Argent (Paris, France not Texas)

L’Ambroisie (Paris, France not Kentucky)

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Gaya by Pierre Gagnaire (Paris, France not Illinois)

La Rosetta (Rome, Italy, not Georgia)

The Seafood Ristorante (St. Andrews, Scotland)

ENDO (Las Vegas, Nevada, not New Mexico)

Dish of the Year: Paella, hand-crafted by José Andrés at Jaleo– Bomba rice, spread a single kernel thick, in a paella pan the size of a manhole cover, over which he melted gossamer-thin Jamon Iberico De Bellota de pata negra, topped with premium Spanish oscetra caviar. All of it washed down with ‘o5 Dom Perignon. Proving that some of the greatest food experiences you will ever have are the unplanned ones, and Las Vegas (even without a world-famous chef at the stoves) can cook with the best of them.

Some days a guy just has to pinch himself.

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Cheers and Happy Holidays from us and our staff at Being John Curtas/Eating Las Vegas.

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Paris, My Way

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Having been to Paris a dozen times in the past twenty years, I pretty much consider myself an expert on the subject — which puts me firmly in the camp of roughly a million other Americans who, at the drop of a beret, will tell you everything you need to know about how they enjoyed themselves over there.

But like anyone who vacations to the same spot again and again, one starts to feel a certain knowingness and possessiveness — a visceral connection to claim it as your own. But let’s not fool ourselves, I may be an accomplished tourist– familiar with Paris’s streets and sites, and able to orient myself quickly — but I’m simply an enthusiastic visitor. With the Olympics coming up this week, and Paris! Paris! Paris! being all over the news, the least I can do for my loyal readers, is offer a few travel tips should you find yourself headed there anytime soon, either physically or in your dreams.

We’ll start with some general advice, and sprinkle in some words of wisdom, heavily sauced with sarcasm…and a buttery Béarnaise, of course.

First, let’s concentrate on the important things.

 Getting there: Take Drugs! Get sleep! We’re talking on the airplane, silly. Benadryl works for me. Gummies for others. Steal your mother’s Valium if you have to, but knock yourself out for at least 4-5 hours of the flight.

You will arrive in the early morning. The airport, even at 8:00 am, will be a mess. Charles DeGaulle is either the biggest headache in travel (worse for departing flights than arriving), or just hugely annoying on par with dozens of other international hubs. It is never a pleasant experience so grit your teeth, get through it, and think of the meals ahead.

Clear passport control, get your bags, and find a cab. Parisian taxis are good and reliable and won’t try to cheat you; but Uber is better. It’s easier to find the cab stand at the arrival terminals than the rideshare pickup areas so hop in and show your hotel’s address to your driver on your phone. Once in town, stick with Uber.

The ride from the airport to the central arrondissments can take anywhere from 30-90 minutes to go 34 kilometers (21 miles) depending on traffic.  The only time it’s ever taken me less than an hour was at 5:00 am, on a weekend, in a driving rainstorm.

Don’t even think about going in the summer. The third time I went to France was in late June, 1998 and it was sweltering, crowded and miserable. And it’s only gotten worse the last quarter century. After two weeks of sweating through crowds and a dozen shirts, I vowed then never to return unless it was sweater weather, and I’ve kept that promise for 26 years. The good news is Paris is more north than people realize (roughly on the same latitude as Rolla, North Dakota(?), and late May is a gorgeous (and quite cool) time to go.

Once you do get there, say, this fall or when the Olympic dust dies down, here is how I attack la capitale de la gastronomie:

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Bring your best thick-soled walking shoes. Better yet, bring two pairs and don’t worry about being fashionable. Nothing brands you a tourist faster than showing off your shiny spats (or spiked heels) when all the locals are tromping about in clunky boots.

Speaking of fashion: scarves are to les hommes de Paris what feathers are to a peacock. As soon as the temperature dips an inch below 70, they wrap their necks in them as if they were trekking through Greenland. Bring one (preferably the size of a bedspread), or buy one there and wear it like a world weary Parisian in love with his blanket.

Final dress code note: Paris is a lot less formal than it used to be. However, in some of the tonier hotels and gastronomic cathedrals, without a sport coat on, you will feel as out of place as a Twinkie in a patisserie. So men: bring a blazer. Women: you’re on your own. These days you can get away with almost anything.

As for accommodations…

Decent hotels are everywhere. Paris is full of great small hotels with clean facilities and helpful staffs. Like everything else, prices seemed to have risen 50% in the past five years. Expect to pay at least $250/night for a decent bed in a smallish room, with plumbing that’s a lot more reliable than it was in 1994.

It may be a bit off-brand, but for twenty years, I was the king of the shitty Parisian hotel — Hotel Malte, Hotel Crayon Rouge, Hotel Therese, Hotel Cambon, Hotel Select, Hotel La Perle — from a Best Western near the Louvre to a hot sheet joint around Brasserie Flo in the Tenth that I used for a one-night stand {food, not sex} — were, for years, where I parked my solo self before trekking to a three hour lunch or four hour dinner.

Then, marriage civilized me. Like most wives, The Food Gal® has more refined sensibilities when it comes to these things, and doesn’t appreciate the charms of tissue-thin linens, pillows the density of cotton balls, and showers the width of a golf bag. For her I bite the bullet and try to book Le Relais Saint-Germain (in the heart of the Left Bank), or Grand Hôtel du Palais Royal (a block from the Louvre and Palais Royal) so she doesn’t have to walk over the bed to use the bathroom.

Regardless of where you cool your heels, it’ll be late morning when you arrive in town and your room will not be ready. This means you’re going to have a few hours to kill before you can wash off the airplane grime — which is why sleeping on the transatlantic flight is so important.

Another travel hack I’m fond of is a bit harder to cultivate, but it comes in particularly handy when you have to wait hours for your room:

Ritz Paris: 5 Star Luxury Palace Hotel & Spa - Place Vendôme(Towels so fluffy they barely fit in my suitcase)

Have rich friends! The kind who, in the before times, would’ve been bossing around porters with Goyard streamer trunks strapped to their backs. If you’re fortunate enough to befriend someone in the carriage trade, they might let you hang out at The Ritz (above), Hotel Lutetia, Mandarin Oriental or Cheval Blanc (where the $2,000/night rooms are always ready) before you crawl back to your hovel to begin a week of listening to other people flush their toilets.

Wherever you are, you’ll be dead tired (it’s the middle of the night your time), and in need of a shower. And, if you haven’t read this blog, you’ll find yourself standing in the middle of some hotel lobby, smelling like dried sweat and musty airplane cabin, and wondering what to do until 3:00 pm. This is where planning comes in. This is why leaving meals to chance, especially in a target-rich environment like Paris, is dumber than ordering a cheeseburger on the Champs-Elysee.

Image(Braserrie Flo)

Book a lunch venue for the day you arrive at a nice cafe/bistro within a few blocks of your hotel. Decent bistros are more common in Paris than baguettes these days, and with a little research, you can find a foodie favorite. Consult Paris by Mouth if you want to be in-the-know and au courant, and reserve a week or so before you arrive, knowing that your first meal on French soil will probably leave your waiter wondering whether it is you or the aged Espoisses he’s sniffing.

Here’s a sampling of places which barely scratches the surface of all the cornucopia of dining choices which await you, sort of in alphabetical order:

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Allard

Au Pied de Cochon

Bouillon Chartier

Le Bistrot Paul Bert

Brasserie Floderer

Brasserie des Prés

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Chez L’Ami Louis The link is to one of (the famously dyspeptic) A. A. Gill’s most acerbic reviews in which he savaged the place. Enjoy his prose, but ignore his vitriol. He must’ve been feeling more splenetic than usual, because L’Ami Louis is famous for a reason(s), and the reasons are it has some of the best poulet, foie gras, a haystack of  frites the size of your head (above), and baba au rhum in France. The hardest thing about it is securing a reservation. (Use a concierge.) The staff is gruff, but actually quite nice.

Flottes

Juveniles

La Bourse et la Vie

L’Assiette:

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Le Dôme

La Rotonde

Le Bon Georges

L’Ami Jean

Le Chardenoux

Le Grand Colbert

Le Procope

Le Servan

Le Severo

Lipp

Ma Bourgogne

Rotisserie D’Argent

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You could build a two week vacay around eating in only these and not have a bad bite. But there are bigger fish to fry in Gay Paree (see below).

As you can see, I lean heavily classic when it comes to French food — from cuisine bourgeoise to haute. If you want trendy (lots of tweezers,  Franco-Sino  mashups, high-wattage outposts from some enfant terrible) you’ve come to the wrong place. And If you’re looking for cheap eats, you’re really at the wrong address. That said, the street food of Paris is quite the bargain, and worth checking out.

Begin with a Day One lunch and you’ll start your visit with a thorough immersion in French food culture before you’ve even had a chance to unpack your bags.

After lunch (With a mandatory carafe of wine? Bien sur!) you’ll be more tired than Gerard Depardieu walking up a flight of stairs, but resist mightily the urge sleep. Stagger back to your hotel, and retrieve your bags from the lobby, check in, shower and change, and then….do anything but fall asleep. You’re full, you’re exhausted, and nothing sounds better than hitting the rack….but it’s only 5 in the afternoon. Collapse then and you’ll wake up at 2 am, rarin’ to go with nothing to do,  Dozing off on your first day is a serious rookie mistake and will consign you to days of waking up in the wee hours and conking out in mid-afternoon, which will rob you of days of eating enjoyment.

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This is where French café culture comes in to save the day. We guarantee that there will be a cozy one within a stone’s throw of your hotel. Find it, plop yourself in a chair, order a café crême, double espresso,  or café allongé, and caffeinate yourself to the nines. Take your time. Play on your phone. Read a book. They don’t care if you’re there five minutes or five hours. Once the jitters set in, that’s your sign you can make it a few more hours until a respectable bedtime.

Image(Avg. number of times crossing Le Pont Neuf when in Paris: 10)

Walk your ass off – our second favorite pursuit in the City of Light, and the reason we actually drop a pound or two on every trip. Pick a different neighborhood every day and then start walking. It almost doesn’t matter in what direction — (almost) everything there is to see in Paris is within a four mile radius of the Louvre, and picturesque strolls are everywhere. A few of our favorites: St. Honore du Faubourg (shopping!), Rue de Montorgueil (food), Rue Caulaincourt (gorgeous neighborhood in Montmartre), Rue de la Roquette (Bastille delights), Rue des Martyrs, Rue Rambuteau (cafés galore), Rue des Franc Bourgeois, or the entirety of Saint Germain de Prés, you get the picture.

“The best of America drifts to Paris. The American in Paris is the best American.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald

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Have a drink at Harry’s New York Bar. All Americans do. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Then leave cocktails to the sheeple waiting at Bar Hemingway at the Ritz. As good as the drinks are at both of them, you’re here for the food and wine, pilgrim, not to booze it up. Getting drunk on vacation is for this side of the pond. And Germans.

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Adopt a wine bar.

Better yet, explore two or three. Wine is as much a part of French culture as sugar water is to ours. Going to Paris and not drinking wine is like touring Italy and skipping the pasta. You won’t find better French wine anywhere in the world, or at better prices. Here’s few of our faves:

Lucien Legrand Filles et Fils

Dilettantes Cave à Champagne

Willi’s Wine Bar

Ambassade de Bourgogne

La Cave des Abbesses

Most likely you’ll still be full from lunch, so plan on a tipple and light bite at one of these (all of them offer snacks to full meals), and then head to your home base to hit the hay. Don’t ask me to recommend natural wine bars though. We have nothing in common if you enjoy imbibing alcoholic kombucha dappled with scents of mouse droppings and hints of musty closets and sweaty feet.

Get the museums out of the way. My wife had been to Paris three times before she stepped inside the Louvre. Every time we’d walked past it she’d whine, “I want to see the Louvre.” To which I always replied, “There it is, now you’ve seen it. Let’s go to lunch.”

Pro tip: Hit the Louvre early on day two so you won’t have to put up with such misguided caterwauling. You’ll still be getting your sea legs, so schedule a private or group tour as early in the day as you can. We’ve had wonderful luck through Viator, and when you sign up for the small group tour, often it’s just you and the guide. Don’t forget to tip the guide (about 20 euros/pp is appropriate, more if they spend extra time with you, as ours did.) If you’ve got the energy, cross the Seine and knock out the Musée d’Orsay in the afternoon. Dispose with those and you can forever pat yourself on the back for being more cultured than the slack-jawed rubes you call friends back home.

Eat cheese.

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Slurp  oysters.

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The French are the biggest oyster and cheese eaters in the world. Paris is the apotheosis of shellfish appreciation, and glories in its fermented curd culture, so take full advantage.

Skip the Eiffel Tour. It’s a total shitshow these days. You wanna see La Tour Eiffel? Look up from anywhere in Paris and you’ve seen it. Ditto Notre Dame. The approaches to both are crammed with screaming toddlers, obnoxious Instagrammers, and hordes of tour groups speaking everything from Cantonese to Swahili.

Image(See? Now you’ve seen it.)

Do not miss a river cruise.  This should be mandatory for first-time visitors. We did a lunch cruise a year ago and the food was remarkably tasty, as were the house wines. The dusk and evening cruises are supposed to be spectacular. Whenever you go, it will be three of the best hours you’ll spend in the city.

Restaurants! Restaurants! Restaurants! Remember, Paris isn’t just the ancestral home of the restaurant, it is also the food capital of the world with at least 44,000 restaurants (cf. New York City, which has four times the population and half as many food outlets). Equally impressive is the fact that most of its temples of gastronomy are open for lunch — and the food is just as good, the portions a little smaller, and the tariff a bit shallower. Plus, you have the added bonus of being able to spend the rest of the day walking it off.

Image(Roasted pigeon at L’Ambroisie)

This territory has been covered extensively on this blog before. To summarize, consider your options:

Guy Savoy might be the best restaurant in the world.

L’Ambroisie is the pinnacle of classic cuisine in an historic setting, and even though the menu is entirely in French, they are extraordinarily friendly and patient with clueless Americans.

Taillevent might be the swankiest place on earth to have lunch. If you don’t want to spring for such an upscale extravaganza, Taillevent’s wine-centric spinoff —  Les 110 de Taillevent  — comes highly recommended by our staff:

Wine Full GIF

The legendary La Tour D’Argent may be the most spectacular combination of food, wine and setting on the planet. The wine list alone is worth a trip:

Image(Not found: Two-buck Chuck)

Pro Tip: Do not despair. Trying to navigate this tome is more futile than trying to parse French genders. Do what the pros do: Ask for it respectfully; accept it religiously; peruse it solemnly; then point to a region and a price point and throw yourself on the mercy of the sommelier. In multiple visits they have never steered me wrong.

Pierre Gagnaire continues to be one of gastronomy’s most inventive chefs. He’s may be in his 70s, but his restaurants haven’t lost their fastball. Gaya — his cozy seafood refuge, tucked into a Left Bank neighborhood —  remains a stunner, toggling between tradition (impeccable Dover sole, below) and innovative takes on things that swim:

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Another eye-popper is the over-the-top Le Clarence — ensconced among the sconces in a re-tooled 19th Century Golden Triangle mansion. Renowned for its elegant cuisine, Chateau Haut-Brion collection and chariot de fromages, this joint is so fancy, you can be excused for thinking the staff is looking at you as if you have a bone in your nose or a papoose strapped to your back.

Arpège retains its 3-star status, with many glorifying its exaltation of turnips, lettuce and the like. Others claim it is past its prime. We are firmly in the latter camp.

Le Climats — a perennial favorite for our annual Burgundian bacchanalia — has closed, and Le Grand Vefour (a must-stop for 27 years) seems to have shed its Michelin history and re-made itself into a glorified bistro. Pity.

If we were to chase les trois etoiles again, it would be at Alléno Paris au Pavillon Ledoyen or Le Prés Catelan. Or Lasserre. We’ve never been, but it’s on our short list. Maybe some day we’ll get to Lasserre. In the meantime though, we’ll mostly leave these temples of excess to the nouveau riche gastronauts who frequent them.

not that there's anything wrong with that seinfeld GIF by myLAB Box

You will enjoy yourself much more, and save a little coin, by sticking with lunch at a Michelin 1 or 2-star — where everything is almost as perfect, and what little isn’t is only known to those inspecting the place with a microscope.

Pro tip: Lunch is the right move. After a morning of cultural enrichment, museum fatigue, shopping, or some other waste of time, a proper dejeuner on day two is perfect for your first big deal meal. This is when the big game hunting begins in earnest. Do you want to see what’s new on the gastronomy scene? Visit an old reliable? Surround yourself with luxury? Or try something edgy and out there? It’s time to step up your game and take the Michelin plunge in the last place on earth where the stars actually mean something.

Image(Ask about their AYCE  Tuesdays)

And don’t leave without at least one meal at Le Train Bleu – still the most visually spectacular restaurant in the world. Be forewarned however, cheap travel and Instagram have turned what was once a beautiful sleeper (attended to solely by lovers of Belle Epoque decor and those waiting for a train at Gare de Lyon) have made it a favorite of the selfie-stick set. It’s probably a tad more breathtaking at night, but tables are easier to come by at lunch. The food is remarkably good for such a large operation. So is the service.

For those not wanting to spend a car or house payment on a meal: most sidewalk cafés have perfectly serviceable set menus (always a fixed price for three courses) which will keep you alive. And don’t underestimate the gastronomic joys of le jambon-beurre or a Breton galette (basically a buckwheat crêpe) — both of which are easily found on the street, food stores or in the boulangeries which dot the city.

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Spend a day in Montmartre. But make it a weekday. Weekends are more crowded than Disneyland on the Fourth of July. Go early, grab a kouign-amann at Le Pain Retrouvé (above) to fuel your quads as you traverse the steep streets:

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One full day won’t be enough but it will give you a nice taste of life in the village where Amélie roamed, and one which Toulouse-Lautrec might still recognize. For lunch: duck into Le Coq et FilsAntoine Westermann’s ode to poultry. It’ll be the best $150 you ever spend on a yardbird:

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Hit a farmers market.  This is recommended even if you’re not in Paris solely to eat and explore the food scene. (Quelle horreur!)  The sheer variety of seafood, vegetables, cheese, prepared foods and meats puts eating in America to shame. Since you’re a tourist, you mostly will be gawking instead of buying stuff, so set aside an hour or so to gawk to your heart’s content. The vendors tend to be way friendlier than they used to be.

Visit Père-Lachaise — only if you feel a kindred spirit with Oscar Wilde or Jim Morrison. Otherwise, skip it. The neighborhood is way out of the way, with little to offer but seedy streets until you get closer to Place de la République or the Marais. Plus, it’s full of dead people. Lots and lots of dead people. Underneath mountains of concrete. It’s a Catholic thing.

Cultivate a French Connection.We have a friend. Let’s call her Babette. We can’t claim Babette as our own since we met her through close friends, but now she’s part of the family. She’s Parisian, successful, insouciant, funny, thin, beautiful — one of those gals who falls out of bed looking like she just stepped out of Chanel — and always there to guide us to a hot spot, or help secure a reservation.  She also has the worst taste in men since Britney Spears. There have been so many Jacques, Gilles, Françoises and Hervés we can’t keep them straight. Most of them look like they came straight from Central Casting, or were runner-ups in a Jean-Paul Belmondo lookalike contest. Whatever. This steady parade of suitors somehow makes Babette even more charming. It’s all so very very French, right down to the cigarettes, nonchalant melodrama, and scarves the size of bed spreads wrapped around everyone’s necks:

Lenny Kravitz Oversize Blanket Scarf Was A Runway Trend

Don’t bother learning the language. My travails with the French mother tongue go back half a century. After failing to learn it at least a dozen times, I’m now simply grateful for Google translate, and for the two generations of Frenchmen who have grown up learning English in school. I’m looking forward to my teenage grandson becoming fluent, ready to serve as my translator and squire me around France in my golden years, as long as I’m paying for everything.

Les Invalides is a must — especially for history and military buffs. Perhaps I’m remembering my visit(s) through a rose-tinted haze, but I seem to recall The Food Gal® being riveted by the intricacies of the French 75 field gun, and questioning whether Napoleon was premature in releasing Marshal Ney’s cavalry at Waterloo.

Image(The Food Gal® pondering the intricacies of French artillery)

Pretend you’re a Frenchman — which is best done by exploring every inch of the Luxembourg Gardens and the Jardin des Tuileries. Pack a lunch, grab a seat, and watch the world walk by. There are no two more romantic parks anywhere in the world. It’s only about a 30 minute saunter between them, so set aside a day for urban hiking, provision yourself at Marché Maubert or Marché Saint-Germain and go nuts.

Hotel bathrooms are your friend. The one downside of walking for hours on end (and finding yourself miles from your hotel) is you are always keenly aware of your bladder’s capacity. While small cafes and restaurants frown on you popping in just to empty your vesica urinara, larger hotels always have facilities on the first floor, and generally don’t mind if you use them (as long as you are dressed like you could be a guest). I’ve been told public toilets dot the sidewalks all over Paris, but my chances of using them are roughly the same as the Louvre being turned into a Wal-mart.

Eat (and drink) in Montparnasse. Just the way Hemingway and James Joyce did. The cafes – La Coupole, La Closerie des Lilas, Le Dôme, La Rotonde, Le Select —  are legendary. The seafood is impeccable, and the atmosphere straight out of the Roaring 20s. These are the joints that literally created the term “café society”,  and each is an eyeful, generally welcoming, with copious indoor and outdoor seating. This makes them especially attractive for those who haven’t booked in advance. Being a bit removed from the tourist corridor also means you’ll be rubbing knees more likely with locals than cargo shorts. A visit to at least one should be on every foodie’s itinerary.

A Floor-By-Floor Guide to Galeries Lafayette Paris Haussmann – Blog(Toilet paper and big screen TVs on Aisle 4)

Shop the way human beings were meant to: in department stores. Department stores in America are an endangered species, but Galeries Lafayette (above), Le Bon Marché, Printemps, BHV, La Samaritaine— are shrines to civilized shopping and still going strong in the City of Light. Most are architectural gems in their own right, and whether you’re buying or browsing, it is time well-spent. Added bonus: most have restaurants/food halls/gourmet grocery stores associated with them which are a treat unto themselves, and a perfect place to plan a picnic.

Make a pilgrimage to Poilâne. It’s roughly the size of my closet, and many Parisians scoff at its international success, but this is where it all started — the shop that made the world fall in love again with French bread.

 “Paris is a place where, for me, just walking down a street that I’ve never been down before is like going to a movie…Just wandering the city is entertainment.” – Wes Anderson

What have I missed? Strolling the Seine. Poking around the Jardin du Palais-Royal. Soaking up the history of the Place de Vosges. Croissant hunting (this award-winning knockout is from La Maison d’Isabelle):

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Copper cookware browsing at the iconic E. Dehillerin. Haute couture.  Immersing yourself in the cacophony of the Marais. Exploring the Trocadero, Champs-Elysee, Bois de Boulogne . The Opera House (Palais Garnier), Catacombs, Arc de Triomphe (another shitshow, but give it a whirl), Musée Cluny, the Sorbonne, the Latin Quarter, Pantheon, and a dozen other museums. (One of these days, we’ll get to Musée Carnavalet, the museum of the City of Paris.) It’s all there for the taking, or you can simply stroll around for days, snapping jaw-dropping pictures until your thumbs get tired.

Hemingway called Paris a moveable feast and truer words have never been written. But it is much more than just the best food city on earth. Paris my way will always be the greatest banquet in the world for the intellect, the senses and the soul.

Take us home, Edith: