Hungry for Paris: The Ultimate Guide to the City's 109 Best Restaurants by Alexander Lobrano (15-Apr-2014) Paperback
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
caught up in these webs. Our first courses came, and my grilled scallops in a lime-zest-spiked foam were light, succulent, and sexy. Anna loved her stuffed crab in an elegant gelée of its own coral. And she didn’t mention Gérard again during our meal, although her eyes darted often to the table across the way. I had the sole in caramelized mango sauce with giant capers, and Anna, ready to buck herself up, devoured a brilliant composition of lamb that included grilled cutlets, a lamb sausage, a
then that this addiction would become the compass by which I would live my life. Four years later I was in Paris again, dumb from the misery of British food on a student pauper’s pocket in late-seventies London and desperate for goat cheese and more of that sauce. But, on a night so cold it made your eyeballs ache, I discovered choucroute garnie, a vast smoking platter of tart sauerkraut mounted with several kinds of sausage, fatback, and brined pork loin. Eaten with waxy white potatoes and
surrounded by a swarm of yellow jackets that had been put into service just after the Civil War. I also had once rather reluctantly discovered what real milk tasted like because one of the best dairy farms in Connecticut was a short bike ride from our house. The gentle old farmer with his fat Guernsey cows in a tidy barn where the tiled walls were covered with faded satin rosettes—his serial farm show awards—stunned my brother and me one June afternoon by offering us mugs of milk still warm from
menus generally offer things that kids like to eat, and the animation in the dining room provides helpful distraction. COFFEE. The French never drink coffee with their meals and order coffee with milk (café au lait) only at breakfast. The standard French coffee is a small, dark espresso-style coffee known as a café or express. If you want coffee with milk during the day, order a café crème (coffee with steamed milk) or a noisette, which is an espresso-style coffee with a shot of milk.
tonight. Il neige.” It’s snowing. I’d slept all afternoon that Sunday after getting home and so was surprised when I went to the window and saw that the city was covered with deep snow, with more falling so fast and furiously that I could barely see the Sorbonne across the street. I had three choices. I could drink a large glass of aquavit and nibble an anchovy or two; I could bundle up and set out in search of an open restaurant in a neighborhood I didn’t know; or I could toss in the towel and