I am ecstatic for owners Braden Perkins and Laura Adrian (American) who have braved the Parisian red tape and opened their very own stunning restaurant in the prestigious Palais-Royal quartier of Paris.

This ex-pat couple delivers the French dining experience that so many of us want to believe still exists. And it is popular with both the French and ex-pat community alike. I’m telling you the American’s in Paris are doing some great food (Daniel Rose – need I say more?)

Perhaps you remember Hidden Kitchen. It was written up in Bon Appetit, Gourmet, and a plethora of travel sites? Braden and Laura used to hold underground 12 course tasting menus in their adorable Parisian apartment. These dinners were so incredible that the food glitterati declared it a ‘must’ while visiting Paris. Braden would concoct clean, stylized, tasty plates while Laura would host/sous chef and attend to the wine selection. Quite the dynamic duo.

They realized their dream this year with the opening of Verjus in the prestigious cobblestoned quartier, Palais Royal. And excuse my French here, but they have totally knocked it out the park. I’m not just saying that because I know them and find them to be an extremely talented couple. I’m saying that because it’s true.

I always feel special when I see them – but they make everyone feel special.

Self-taught Chef Braden holds court upstairs and continues to serve a beautiful and seasonal tasting menu that changes more frequently than any restaurant I know of in Paris. He draws upon world flavors (especially Asian) to bring French ingredients and traditional dishes to new heights. And he’s not afraid of flavor. I like his riffs on American classics too like the spicy popcorn chicken pictured second that is served in the wine bar. I ate two orders back to back.

French cuisine is often too subtle and sometimes too balanced in the flavor department, Braden brings excitement by introducing new flavors, spices, and unusual combinations. His presentation is clean but organic and not overly micro-managed. That’s not to say that his attention to detail is remiss – he is a perfectionist – but his plates are not fussy and they have a masculine flare. By the way, order anything that comes with dan-dan sauce. Man, that stuff is delicious.

Downstairs, in the cobblestone cave (it’s street level, but still has that secret hideaway feel) Laura commands the wine bar. I like to sit at the bar and drink whatever she feels is perfect for the moment and order off the bar bite menu. And I love to watch her switch effortlessly between French and English, smoothly acknowledging newcomers and tending to the rest of us in need of food and libation. Laura knows wine. She has an interesting and well-priced list and she always introduces me to something new.

Most people don’t realize how difficult it is for small business owners in Paris. Not to mention ex-pat small business owners. I won’t bore you with the laborious insane process of just getting the doors open, but it’s not easy. Even for the French, running a restaurant with all the taxes and red tape make it hard to succeed. And this is probably why Paris restaurants are a mixed bag. It’s hard to make a profit and corners are cut, frozen replaces fresh, and restaurants get run down. It is NOT because the French don’t know how to cook well.

Verjus is special. The love and hard work that Braden and Laura have put into this beautiful restaurant has not gone unnoticed. If you don’t believe me then take Saveur’s word for it or Paris By Mouth.

Or better yet, take my friend Meg Zimbeck’s relaxed and peaceful expression as testament.

This is my top choice in Paris and I hope you will give it a try and say ‘hi’ for me!

The post Farewell Hidden Kitchen, Hello Verjus! first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Yes…yes…YES!!! (oui…oui…OUI!!!)

How they make this magical thick hot chocolate is a mystery to me. There’s controversy in chocolate land on whether or not milk should be used, or cream, or a combination and whether powdered chocolate is prefered over melted. And yes, I have asked on several occasions what the secret is. And no, I never get a response – just a reminder that the hot chocolate is for sale in the lobby in a powdered version that I can make at home that doesn’t taste anything like what they serve in the restaurant. (It’s still good, just not as good).

Thankfully this is not my world or expertise, and I just know that I like coming here.

What’s not so sexy  about this grand institution is that fact that the building is slowly crumbling and if you look close at the ceiling you will see paint peeling and water damage. The lighting is wannabe natural with an enormous florescent lit ceiling and some actual daylight that streams through the front window displays. I could do without the greenish glow – it makes me feel like I’m back in high school – and that’s a bad thing.

Despite the wear and tear and a few annoying 1970’s attempts at modernization, this place has held it’s ground on Rue Rivoli since 1903 and the gold gilt still covers the walls with a nod to a more opulent era. Opened by a Hungarian couple this cafe was once known as Rumplemayors. Famous people have long visited for the African hot chocolate (with not too sweet whipped cream served on the side – yum) including Audrey Hepburn, Coco Chanel, and maybe even YOU! They do serve a nice breakfast and an okay traditional French bistro fare lunch – I opt for the salads.

The waiters deliver excellent timely, friendly, and professional service and speak English. I enjoy the front of house hustle and bustle here. And the line that is toujours a mile long to get a table, moves fast. The hostess is on her game at all times and I have always been greeted and seated with courtesy.

The pastries are gorgeous and sometimes tasty. Yes, I really just said that. It’s so easy to be a critic isn’t it? When in fact each little dessert is a plethora of French pastry techniques requiring so much work and skill. Angelina’s pastry shop is very good but, but when you are living in Paris (or any city) you get to know certain places for certain things.

For me, there is something romantic about spending the day leisurely strolling through Jardin de Tuileries and taking in an exhibit at Le Louvre and then resting my weary feet in front of a heart warming, soul soothing cup of thick chocolat chaud.

Rain or shine, Angelina’s is legendary and Le chocolat Africain is divine.

For more recommendations on Angelina’s check out Paris by Mouth

The post Angelina’s in Paris first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

And only from this particular shop in Paris, in the heart of the Marais, on Rue de Rosiers.

I am not the first to write about this place. But after 8 years of eating here, the experience never ceases to amaze me. And therefore I feel compelled to add my review to the long list of fanatical followers.

When I cooked in Paris this was my Sunday go-to because not a lot else was open and it was a healthy  and affordable place to grab lunch. L’As du Fallafel is closed on Saturday to observe the Sabbath but they serve up tasty food all afternoon on Sunday. In America restaurants are rarely closed on Sunday but not so in France. Although this is beginning to change, it can be a real drag when the last thing you want to do on your day off from cooking 14 hours a day is cook.

L’As du Fallafel is kosher. It is affordable. And it is always great. I love the fact that after years of eating here it is still reliable. The service is: friendly, English speaking, and high energy (I like that.) And the team in back of house and front remains the same – always a good sign.

Although L’As du Fallafel has a restaurant,  I go to the street food window where the line extends for at least a block (but moves fast, so don’t worry). You can get fries on top and extra sauce, but that’s sort of a teenage thing to do – or a very drunk thing to do. Piling on fried salty food with extra hot sauce always sounds better when intoxicated.

The lamb schwerma is excellent, but sometimes it just feels good to pig out on a crazy delicious vegetarian meal. How often does that happen right? (Joking here, joking…)

So just what makes this kosher vegetarian falafel so crazy good that it literally attracts people from all the world? Is it the super fresh made-right-before-your-eyes chickpea fritters? Or the warm squishy homemade pita bread? Or the juicy cucumber, shredded cabbage, roasted eggplant, tomato, parsley, and spicy harissa sauce or rich tahini? Or what? What is it?

I don’t know. I wish I did. I wanted to recreate this sandwich so badly at Citizen Cake. I spent weeks trying to perfect it. I soaked dried chickpeas for days. I shredded vegetables. I made humous. I made harrissa.  And it was good, but it just wasn’t this. (No shame in trying.)

It might sound bizarre to be highly recommending a visit to L’As du Fallafel on your next trip to Paris given the amount of Michelin Starred restaurants, but you must. It’s one of those things that can’t  be explained but must be experienced for oneself.

And besides, walking around in the Marais – the incredible Jewish and Gay quarter filled with history & modern trendy-chic fashion and culture – falafel in hand, window shopping and munching on a deliciously sloppy sandwich on a beautiful Sunday afternoon is not a bad way to spend the day.

Address: 

Telephone: +33.01.48.87.63.60

The post L’As du Fallafel first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Catapulted into the next city by train. Watching the Tuscan country side glide by through my cabin window in long blurred brush strokes of green, mustard yellow, papovero poppy red –  as if a painter took his big thumb to a wet oil canvas depicting vineyards and 14th century castles and smeared them all together into one fat horizontal smudge. The cloudless blue sky stays ever motionless. The train silently pushes on. I sip my warm, flat, first class Prosecco, munch on salted peanuts, and contemplate why train travel makes for better writing.

Is it the motion of going forward that allows one’s mind to stop and focus? The temporary vulnerability/insanity of handing over one’s inertia and life to an unknown conductor that aids in the journey inward?

This story is long (and I will break into installments) with new revelations about the French and Italians – brand spanking never been heard before commentary on them thar Euro-peans!  In this epic adventure there are: good times, rain, good food, shitty food (lots of it), sun, total exhaustion, too many churches, too many cities, sudden death (and that’s not meant to be funny), exciting wines, renewed love, stolen bags, and plenty of gained weight…

I arrive in Paris the end of April From San Francisco.

The rain in SF ends and a heat wave arrives – the first in years. The heat wave in Paris ends and wind, freezing temperatures, and rain that falls hard & sideways takes over the entire country. Fun! I am so happy I packed summer dresses, sandals, sexy stilettos, and slinky dresses. Let the honeymoon begin! And please God, let this not be a sign. Who wants to start out on this note?

I lived here for five years through some of the hottest summers and darkest coldest winters in France’s history and now I’m reliving it again. Yay for me. What was wrong with a vacation in Belize or Hawaii? I can’t remember my rationale…

There will be no picnics on Pont Neuf or in Tuileries, no jogging along the Seine or in the Bois de Boulogne.

There will be a lot of cafe sitting, croissant munching, deustation menu taking, and champagne popping, and dragging my new husband from museum to museum – he’ll just love that – he’s such an art buff. (sarcasm here, just a little bit) And he just loves to sit and people watch too and take super long meals that absorb the whole day. (a little more sarcasm here, just a tad).

Oh who cares, it’s our honeymoon. Isn’t that the time where you pull up the sheets and order room service and stay in bed? And we’re in Paris the most romantic city in the world! Let it rain! Let them eat cake! I don’t care!

Touching down in Charles de Gaulle is always a pleasure. This airport , if you’ve never had the good fortune of visiting, is like a hamster cage on steroids. I’m talking about the type of rodent habitat  that has all those plastic connecting tubes, wheels, and balls. The only difference – besides scale – between this French monstrosity and my niece’s pet project is that the former is partly flocked with an interesting texturized cement that looks like asbestos. It probably is asbestos.

It’s France after all which is a little like America in the early ’80’s – and remember that the ’80’s heavily idolized the ’50’s with just a bit more color and geometric glam. This is not necessarily a put down, many Americans liked the ’80’s and neon is definitely making a come back this year in America and so is Marilyn Monroe for that matter.

Neither of these two have left Paris since I’ve been gone, but more on that later. Asbestos is still not a class action suit here in Paris – that is what I’m really trying to say.

My new husband stares in disbelief as we drag our way too heavy luggage along the human conveyor belt.  He laughs and blurts out: “You were right. It is exactly like a hamster cage. Even the people look rather hamsterish.” Ah jet lag, it makes every thing look distorted. “Yes,” I reply “The French are much smaller boned than us. We, as Americans, are porky pig-ish. Perhaps SFO looks like a feeding trough to them.”

I hustle my Hubby past the new arrivals that are looking up and down and all around and trying to figure out where to go. I know this airport way better than I’d like to. I will admit that the Hamster Staff have added a plethora of new signage in French and English which is quite the pièce de résistance when you think about it (and I mean ‘piece of resistance’ here). Nonetheless, most people are lost, and we are the first to make the taxi line. Why? Because it’s at the opposite end from where international travelers are let out and only a few people know that. Superb design. Just like a hamster cage. We hop into a nice big taxi and shove our two big bags (a total of 100 pounds) in the backseat along with two carry ons (50 pounds each), 2 laptop carry ons (2 X 25 pounds), and my big black purse (oh, at least 5 pounds, I have everything in there). That’s a total of 255 pounds of luggage. Luckily for me my husband is really strong. And luckily for him, I’ll let him prove just how strong he is.

The journey from the Hamsterhoff to our hotel takes no time. We have chosen a hotel close to the l’Arc de Triumph for the first few days. It’s a so-called boutique hotel just off the famous (yet not so pretty) Avenue de la Grande Armée. I lived in this neighborhood not so long ago and know all the great little markets and restaurants in this little uppercrust quartier. Oh and my old place of work, Guy Savoy, is just around the corner.

The reason we check in here at Mon Hotel, and yes that’s really the name of the hotel – it’s not my hotel per se – is that the Ritz is closed for renovations. No. That’s a joke. Well it is and it isn’t. They are closed for reconstruction. And so are our bank accounts for that kind of expenditure. But the real reason is that my husband must spend the first two days of our honeymoon doing some work in Italy so I figure it will be easier for him to get back and forth to CDG aka the Hamsterhaven.

We yank our luggage out of the taxi and you’ll never guess who greets us at the door. Yes! Marilyn Monroe! She is everywhere! The hotel has been given a trendy chic overhaul which in Paris always looks a little like Z-Gallery in the 80’s meets Ikea of the 90’s meets a True Blood vampire den with some crazy expensive 17th century Murano Glass chandeliers thrown in to really confuse the matter. Photos of Marilyn are tastefully framed and hung all around. Some lava lamps would really get the party started. Nonetheless, the receptionist is super friendly. She is young, pretty, Parisian, nice, and she answers my rusty French with perfect English without trying to suck my blood. The service here definitely makes up for the vampish décor.

However mod Mon Hotel (I’ve linked here to the hotel for your enjoyment) is trying to look the elevator gives away its true age and identity. We squeeze ourselves into it and laugh nervously as the accordion door seals our fate. I push the button for level four and the lift kicks into gear with a worrisome up and down motion before slowly taking us up, up, and away.  The hotel reeks of fruity floral air freshener and the smell, for unknown reasons, is concentrated in the elevator. Oh well, at this close proximity, it’s probably for the better. We have both sat on a plane for 14 hours after all.

Our bags are waiting for us in our room. How did they do that? Perhaps the bell boy flew them up with his bat-like wings? The hotel room is very small. Much smaller than the photos advertised, but it’s nicely furnished and the bed is comfy. Another picture of Marilyn holding her skirts down over a cool vent is framed on the bedroom wall and yet another lesser known print hangs in the bathroom. I find the odoriferous air freshener culprit – ten perfume sticks in a vase –  and hide them under the bathroom counter. These must be everywhere in the hotel. Why? Hasn’t anyone complained of an allergic reaction yet? And if not, can I be the first?

I would like perfume sticks to be added to the list along with asbestos of things France doesn’t know is not en vogue anymore. Oh please, cigarettes would be too obvious…

We were promised a terrace and what an interesting twist on the concept it is. Probably in a former decade this top hotel room in this Haussmann building was one of the maids quarters. In those days, without air conditioning (ahem, France still has no air conditioning), the top floors would be the hottest during the sweltering summers and also the toughest to get to without the aid of an elevator – which was a later addition to most buildings and a reason why they are normally ill constructed.

The ceilings in our chambre are vaulted but still hang lower than the two floors beneath where the bourgeois probably lounged around at one time. Nowadays these tops floors go for serious euros – more than the floors below. I have no idea why. Our window is tiny and the recent addition of a little patio only allows for one very small table and one very small chair. We can take turns sipping our morning coffees assuming we can actually squeeze through the window to get out there. The room does come equipped with a Nespresso maker and I like this gadget.

We skip the shower and hit the streets. I briefly debate whether using the perfume sticks like deodorant would be a wise choice but my husband thinks this might cause skin cancer.  We head out on Avenue de le Grande Armée in search of a light bite. The triumphant L’Arc de Triumph sits like an imposing luxury cruise liner in the midst of turbulent waters. It’s not going anywhere fast. Rain starts to pour and I just changed into sandals. Damn. We duck into an upscale brasserie called (here’s a shocker) Le Grande Armée, that is just a block away from the sainted Arc and the craziness of Étoille:  the voiture merry-go-round that whips around the Arc de Triumph morning, noon, and night.

I know this restaurant. It has always been expensive but never touristy. Foreigners usually don’t make it to this side of the Étoile. And, by the way, ‘étoile’ means ‘star’ and if you look down upon the L’Arc de Triumph from an aerial perspective you will see that there are five roads that dead end into it, each one named after something Napoleonic, and a circle (the car merry-go-round) that protects anyone from trying to capture and run away with the enormous monument. It looks like a really big star from up above or so I’m told. The opposite street from the unimpressive Avenue de la Grande Armée (named for Napoleon’s sometimes victorious army) is the very impressive and upscale Champs Élysées.

We are seated at this resto. The table cloths are starched white and all the French business guests are wearing suit and ties. My, this place has certainly grown up in the last four years. The menu is traditional. Traditionally bad. But the china they are serving it on has much improved. We sit and my head starts to swim from the jet lag. I feel terribly American and very conspicuous. The server comes to take our order and I have just completely hit the wall. I can’t remember for the life of me how to order a diet coke. Coca Light! Je vais prendre un Coca Light! (Whew…)

I order a Cesear salad with chicken that has absolutely no flavor and my husband orders steak tartar that also has no flavor or special acctrouments to make it better. It is simply a disgusting enormous huge portion of chopped meat that is neither seasoned properly nor presented elegantly in the center of his plate. There is no cute little quails egg floating atop. There are no swoops of Violette mustard strewn across the plate. No sea salt or freshly ground pepper dusting the edges. No capers. No onions. Rein de tout – lame!

I forgot about this side to Paris. I did try to warm my hubby but he didn’t believe me at first. Gone are the Julia Child days when France was a gastronomical paradise. Don’t get me wrong I cooked here, I studied here, I love French cuisine. But this new energetic foodie movement that is supposedly taking over needs to hurry up a little bit. The number of bad restaurants far out numbers the good. And the ones that are good are normally VERY expensive. If they are good but not expensive, they are impossible to get a reservation at. However, the French do some things better than anyone, and I will come to that later.

We pay our check of 75 euros, that’s around 100 dollars for a salad, steak tartare, and two cokes. We leave. Wow. That was not the type of French experience I wanted my husband to have for his first meal in Paris. That was not the kind of meal I wanted to have in Paris. But you know, the French, they love it. So what can you do? The two French business men sitting just next to us had ordered entrecôte (steak) and that was the only thing on their plates. Two big steaks both cooked bloody – or bleu as they call it. (Cold in the middle. This temperature should not be confused with saignant with mean ‘rare’ and should be raw but warm in the middle). The french fries were in a separate bowl untouched.

(Our French fries were left untouched too because they were cooked about 7 hours ago, if not the day before, and probably recooked about 3 hours before we sat down. Harumph!)

Disappointed we go back to the bat cave and pass out. My husband has to wake up at 3AM anyway to go back to CDG and fly out to Italy for business. I fall asleep quickly and have crazy emotionally charged dreams. I left Paris the last time a much different person than when I first arrived. And not necessarily for the better. I left Paris embodying the ugliness of:  blinding ambition, divorce, guilt, serious physical exhaustion, health issues, and a torn apart life mostly self-inflicted. I was hoping this time to rewrite those pages. But now I wonder if the rain is trying to wash me out….

The alarm clock goes off and it feels like we just shut our eyes. I’m happy to be awake instead of furiously slaving over the stove of hell’s kitchen in my dreams yelling and being yelled at by French Chefs. My husband has not slept as soundly  but I know he will be okay on no sleep. He catches a taxi and I go back to bed.

At 12PM I get up and it is bright and sunny! Ha! Maybe the rain cloud is following him and not me!

I pull on my running gear and head for the Bois de Boulogne which was once the hunting grounds for Henry II and Henry III. This is the real reason I chose this hotel. It’s not too far from this magnificent park which is sort of like NYC’s Central Park (just not central and 2.5 times bigger). The “Bois” which is partly manicured and partly wild wood, was my therapy for five years. It was the only place I could run and sweat and not feel ridiculous. Now running in Paris is trendy but four years ago it was a laughably very American thing to do. I’ve always enjoyed running along the Seine too, but the Bois is peaceful if you don’t mind the random transvestite prostitutes that linger in off-road places waiting for their usuals.

At night they line the streets that bi-sect the park more prominently, but not during the day. They often park their vans close to where they wait for customers so they can take their “work”  back to the car if the park isn’t providing enough cover. It doesn’t really bother me – at least I don’t feel threatened by it – and I don’t think anybody else feels endangered either.

You know Parisians are funny about what they consider their private life. They don’t butt their heads into other people’s business the way we do in America and they fully resent it when other people attempt to pry open their lids. It’s very much a ‘live’ and ‘let live’ city. And if it’s not hurting anyone – well then – who cares? Sadly I’m sure the prostitution in the park isn’t so innocent and I know there have been several attempts to clean it up, but from what I can tell none have been successful.

I often wonder if this idea of  ‘private life’ is left over from WWII when people had to be private – really private – about everything. And I often wonder if that is why they are not always so welcoming up front because they are truly lovely people once you get to know them. And once you are accepted into a French social circle then you are easily adopted and befriended by others. It must be because of the war. I’m quite certain about it.

My run is refreshing and cleansing and even though the Bois is huge with many undocumented trails, my legs instinctively find my favorite off-road paths before my head even has time to think about it.

Today is going to be fun because I am going to see MEG ZIMBECK, one of my favorite people in Paris (and in the world for that matter). Meg and I met as two ex-pat bloggers slightly enamored with each other’s French perspective and writing styles many years ago. I was working as one of the only employed American female 3-Michelin star cook in Paris at Guy Savoy and she was working for the World Woman’s fund documenting women’s issues by day and at night  shedding light on the Parisian music scene, the food movement, and French culture. She is a fantastic writer. And she is the owner of Paris by Mouth which has the BEST restaurant rec’s in Paris and also the best tours. She’s been reviewed by all the big U.S. newspapers and Ruth Reichl (the former editor of Gourmet Magazine and also author of several food memoirs) just took one of her food tours of Les Halles.

In order to see Meg, I have to take her Paris By Mouth tour of Les Halles, because she is handing the ropes over to a new guide and wants to follow along. This is more than fine by me. I know Les Halles well and the history, but I love to hear it all again. You do know what and where Les Halles is right? And it’s significance?

This is Emile Zola’s Ventre de Paris or “Belly of Paris”! And it was at one time the biggest wholesale markets in the world. This market dates back to 1183. Over  800 years the market thrived and expanded. It was at one time inclosed with a beautiful wrought iron and glass structure that finally began to collapse in the 1970’s so it was destroyed and replaced with a park (not so pretty) and a bizarre underground shopping mall that has become a haven for teens and drug addicts.

The wholesale market is outside the city now in its own city called Rungis (it’s so big it even has its own barber shop, bank, and transit system but you can’t enter without a special permit) and it is still today the largest wholesale market in the world. The remains of the original Les Halles can be seen with a guide who knows how to peel back the layers and make it come alive. Most of what’s left  today is on rue Montorgueil where you can find bouloungeries, patisserries, fromageries, butcheries, poissoneries, and resaurants that date back to the 17th century.

There’s so much more to this area and the life that surrounded it, but I will have to come back to this in a later post…

The new tour guide for Paris by Mouth is French and she knows her stuff. She brings an architectural background to the experience which makes the history of the area come alive. Her English is much better than mine and so is her French. I’m jealous. Meg and I had intended to hang back and catch up during the tour but we are both heavily engrossed in the experience. The tour ends at Spring’s wine shop (owned by American expat Daniel Rose who started Restarunt Spring in this same location before expanding at a new venue down the street) with ex-pat Josh Adler (who also worked at Bi-Rite in San Francisco) tasting the cheeses we have purchased along the way and sipping wines that Josh chooses to accompany them . Slightly intoxicated we leave the wine shop for another ex-pat friend’s new restaurant: Verjus.

I have been dying to check out Verjus and I know this is going to make up for my lame lunch yesterday. Shit, was that the last time I ate? No wonder I’m slurring my words. Meg and I saunter down the cobblestone streets arms linked happily talking about ex-pat gossip and catching up on each other’s lives until we reach the 1st arroindissment.

I’m going to let you in on a secret and it’s probably going to send up a lot of red flares, and lots of huffing and puffing and blowing out through the lips and all those little idiosyncrasies the French do when they are really upset. The Expat restaurants are kicking major boo-tay in Paris. Why? Because these places are bringing great service, fresh ingredients, reasonable prices, and cross-culturally inspired tasty beautifully presented food to the table. Boo-yeah! And here’s one more secret: many of the new trendy happening restaurants owned by French chefs have trained or cut their teeth in America. Yup. That’s right. No joke. Have you heard of Frenchies in Paris?!?  NO?!?! Well have you heard of Gramercy Tavern in NYC? Same chef.

And one more interesting note before I dive into a bottle of burgundy at restaurant Verjus – recently an older French friend of mine who, at one time, used to dine only in Michelin star restaurants said to me, “If you want to know where the really good places are to eat and drink in Paris, follow the Americans.”

I’m doing my victory dance right now, you just can’t see it. It’s sort of combination of the sprinkler dance (one elbow behind head the other arm outstretched notching its way around the lawn) meets the mashed potato (if you don’t know this one then ask some one older about it).

Now that I’ve let the cat out of the bag I of course have cover my tracks a little. Because I am the product of one of Paris’s most loved 3-Michelin star restaurants and I did do my training at the prestigious Le Cordon Bleu. There is nothing in the world like a French 3-Michelin star restaurant experience. Nothing. It is something to experience at least once in a lifetime. American 3-Michelin star restaurants are also great, but the French take it to an unearthly level. Here’s why: the servers have degrees in serving you. That is what they have trained to do at a prestigious university for four years including a lengthy apprenticeship after graduation. And after receiving so much hostile service in Paris when you actually walk into a restaurant and they treat you like royalty it’s sort of shock – a memorable shock. Seriously, the service is incredible.

And, from a food standpoint, some poor kid in the kitchen will likely end up on the daily specials if he or she messes up your dish and I’ve seen it happen in ways Gordon Ramsay wouldn’t even dare to copy. Sidenote: Gordon Ramsay did cook at Guy Savoy when he was a lot younger and  Thomas Keller did an apprenticeship there. Both have been quoted as saying it was the toughest restaurant ever. You can quote me saying the same. Pixar spent four years in the kitchen documenting how it all works and you’ve seen that movie.  And, on a serious note, most of these outstanding 3-Michelin star chefs started apprenticing when they were only fifteen years old. The experience and lifetime devoted to discovering and building upon French cuisine with their own personal artistic perspective and appreciation is unparalleled.

The other thing the French have going for them are all the artisanal products that we are now striving to copy and surpass but somehow can’t. I’ll come back to that and I’m sure there are readers out there already whose blood I’m boiling. Yes, SF makes great bread, Okay?!?! And great sausage. We have amazing cheese. And great cupcakes too. And we definitely kick ass when it comes to the Whoopie pies that many Paris Patisseries are trying to recreate. However, yogurt we will never get right. And this little pasteurized dilemma/issue we have got to get over…

Meg and I saunter (stumble) into Verjus like we own the place. And this is such a cute restaurant – very 16th century. The wine bar is on the ground floor with cobblestone walls & wood beams. The restaurant on the upper floor is elegant surrounded by beautiful old glass windows, white clothed tables, and sparkling crystal glasses. We slide into the bar, plop our purses on the floor, and start chatting a mile a minute with Laura who is the beautiful owner along with her husband Braden who is also the chef. We love them. We have known them since they started Hidden Kitchen which was a long-standing 12-course pop up dinner. It was pop-ular. Very popular!

I’m starving so Meg, who eats there regularly, starts ordering off the menu. Upstairs Braden, who I must admit sometimes reminds me of a debonair scientist with his wavy dark blond hair and thick black rimmed chemist glasses, does a beautiful tasting menu crafting Japanese flavors with French. And as earthy as this might sound Chef Braden has somehow figured how to add something the French are normally scared of: FLAVOR! Come on, let’s admit it, French food is about subtly and layering of flavor and I love and appreciate that. But sometimes don’t you want something that’s like: POW?!? Braden sneaks this smoking gun element in to every dish with a sophistication I think many guests aren’t quite used to. Sure shot. I love it. And apparently Saveur magazine does too! Waaaay to go Verjus!!!

Downstairs you can order tasting dishes à la carte and share. We decide to start with a bar bite of fried chicken and it is absolutely delicious. A grown up version of spicy popcorn chicken. Next we take the fat Spring asparagus starter cooked two ways: grilled & tempura battered served with a beet-soyu sauce for dipping. We finish up with meatballs that melt in our mouths. Then we reorder these same three dishes plus a few more like dumplings with tam tam sauce and pork belly with I can’t-remember-what-but-it-rocked.

Laura, is chatting with us like we are the only ones in the place while at the same time managing to keep several other groups wine glasses filled. She’s a pro. With one eye on us, she never for a second lets the rest of the intimate space be ignored. I love her for this. It’s a rare gift.  She pairs our dishes with outstanding wines by the glass and I am by this point inebriated and totally jet lagged so my memory is swiss cheese when it comes to remembering the wines. The pictures I take of the wine bottles come out blurred. Oh well, what a great excuse to come back with my husband.

The empty bar stools fill up with solo expats and Meg and I are starting to feel a bit uncomfortable. We came here to catch up and chat with Laura and eat good food and drink good wine, but Meg being the ex-pat celeb that she is, is now having to deal with an onslaught of questions from all sides. She politely asks one acquaintance to” table the tour guide discussion” for another time. Many expats do tours in Paris, but not many are as good, and I can sense her growing uncomfortable. Meg, for all intents and purposes, has crossed to the other side and become French and I know she values her private life (although I’m exposing it here) and we are trying to squeeze four years worth of crazy adventures and stories into one evening. The French are very serious about manners. And I like that. Business talk happens only after the meal is finished and ours is still going strong.

Laura is expertly keeping the expats and the French groups happy. She chats as easily in French as she does in English. This is a place where anyone can come and enjoy good food and wine. The smiles abound. The joie de vivre reverberates off the cobblestone in a unselfconcious tone. This is rare for Paris. For a country that prides itself on being au naturel, it is often an excruciatingly tense and overly conspicuous experience to dine out.

We bid our farewells. Meg is leaving for a short but much needed vacation the next day and I await my husband who has hopefully solved the world’s problems in Italy. I miss him already…

I hop on the metro and make my way back to Étoile, the shining star of Paris. Marilyn greets me at my hotel with skirts a-blazing, the elevator performs it’s turn of the century magic trick taking me vertical in no particular hurry, and the perfume sticks in my room knock me out cold. It’s been a beautiful mostly sunny day with great friends and fantastic food and wine and cheese.

This is only the beginning. The best and rest is yet to come…

The post Paris, Ma Maîtresse first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

marinated mackerel garnished with, zucchini blossom and orange sauce

I’m sure you’ve heard of this chic bistro because the American Chef, Daniel Rose, has been featured in just about every foodie magazine including Gourmet.

What really makes his restaurant special (besides the fact that he’s an American Chef in Paris) is that he cooks right in front of you, just for you.

He goes every morning to the farmer’s market and picks out only the freshest ingredients and then plans a three course meal only for the people that have reserved for the evening. So you know that everything is top quality and truly seasonal.

No use showing up at the door unannounced. Because first of all, there probably won’t be a table available. And secondly he only prepares food for the customers that have called. So book your table at least a month in advance.

velvety rich pumpkin soup with pan seared foie gras

And what a beautiful and creative meal it is! Chef Rose brings his American know-how to French cuisine with style. Check out his blog for menu updates, recipes, private cooking classes, and even live TV footage from the kitchen.

Lamb prepared three ways with rich jus and spinach to garnish

Unfortunately for me, I don’t get the opportunity to eat at his restaurant often because when he’s cooking I’m cooking too. That’s the breaks for cooks in Paris – we all have the same days off. But, I did get the opportunity to meet him and taste his food this last Fall. I only wish I got around to posting my experience earlier.

How can you not love a restaurant that sends you home with breakfast for the next morning?

Restaurant Spring
28 rue de la Tour d’Auverge 75009
Reservations +33 (0)1 45 96 05 72

Technorati Tags: bistros, paris, Paris restaurants, restaurant Spring

The post Spring! first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

I’m a pho addict. And when I need my fix I normally trek out to the 13th arrondisement for a big bowl of steamy beef broth filled with thick rice noodles, beef slices, onions, spicy basil, and cilantro. Since the weather has turned cold, I’m finding my cravings for this Vietnamese speciality have increased.

Now that I’ve moved from the stuffy 17th to jazzy St. Michel I have discovered a whole new world. Right across from me (and all the raucous Greek Latin Quarter restaurants) is a quiet hidden street that has several Vietnamese restaurants and markets brimming with Asian produce and products. Apparently this was one of the original areas that the Vietnamese immigrated to in Paris! Who knew?

Pho 67 is a Mom & Son establishment from what I’ve sussed out. The mom is the chef and the son takes care of the service with grace and professionalism. Sometimes you have to wait a little for your soup or main dish because she cuts and chops everything to order. But it’s worth the wait. And everything is super fresh!

I discovered this restaurant on a rainy Paris afternoon with my friend Carol from the beautiful blog Paris Breakfasts. And we just sat over our big bowls of steamy pho inhaling and slurping up the intoxicating mix of herbs, spices, noodles, and rich beef broth wishing the conversation and the meal would never end.

Pho 67
59, Rue Galande
75005 Paris, France
+33 1 43 25 56 69

Technorati Tags: Paris restaurants, pho, soup, vietnamese food

The post Pho 67 in Paris first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

3 Michelin Star French Cuisine:
Guy Savoy: Traditional French cuisine transformed into contemporary elegance. Ask for the 100 euro lunch tasting menu if looking for a fine dining experience without breaking the bank. Guy Savoy is favored by international stars, French politicians, business men, and chic clientele that desire a private secluded atmosphere without all the fussy gold glitz. Service is impeccable, professional, and friendly. Besides, Monsieur Guy Savoy is an international film star now, having played one of the characters in Pixar’s Ratatouille! Do you know which part?
8, rue Troyon, 75008, tel: +33 (0)1 43 80 40 61

Le Meurice A newcomer into the 3-star arena. The très sexe chef Yannick uses traditional and modern cooking techniques to elevate French traditional cuisine to new heights. Set within the beautiful and historic Hotel Meurice, the decor is reminiscent of a more opulent and decadent era. Great service and beautiful sensual food plated with a nod to Japanese presentation. Reserve a table through their website.

Hélène Darroze (two Michelin stars) One of the only female owned restaurants in Paris to receive Michelin rated accolades. Her food is feminine, imaginative, and sensitive drawing upon her native roots in Landes. A very special experience without the self-concious Parisian elite attitude to muck it up. Check it out ASAP before she receives her third star and the prices go higher!
4, rue d’Assas, 75006, Tel: +33 (0)1 45 72 07 14

Bistros:
L’Ami Jean: Basque food in a fun pro-rugby atmosphere. I think it’s some of the best food in Paris. If there’s one restaurant you must go to, it’s this one. For more info click the link, I wrote a post on it a few years back. I always take friends here when visiting in town.
27, rue Malar, 75007 +33 (0)1 47 05 86 89

Le Comptoir: located right off Metro Odeon in the ever-trendy St. Germain area, this resto serves up traditional bistro food offering one tasty menu a night. If you don’t believe me, then click the link to read Chez Pim’s write-up! Great people watching too! (photo by Moveable Feast)
9, carrefour de l’Odéon, 75006 Tel: +33 (0)1 44 22 07 97

Le Severo: This restaurant is for carnivores and wine lovers. There is much debate over whether this is really a steak-frites bistro or a wine bar with excellent food. Both Patricia Wells and David Lebovitz have given it their blessings so you know it’s good. I’ve linked to Chef Lebovitz’s detailed review. Worth the trek to the 14th! (photo by New York Times click link to read their article too!)
8, rue des Plantes, 75014, tel: +33 (0)1 45 40 40 91

Spring: If you can get a reservation at this tiny restaurant (only 16 seats) owned by American Chef Daniel Rose, then take it! He changes the menu daily and serves what he’s found to be the freshest. Chef Daniel worked at Le Meurice (mentioned above) before opening his own place. I’ve linked to his blog here so you can get an up close and personal account.
28 rue de la Tour d’Auvergne, 75009, tel: +33 (0)1 45 96 05 72

Le Soufflé: Totally kitsch, but so much fun and they do have the best soufflé’s in Paris at a very reasonable price. It’s a fun way to end a vacation in Paris. Ignore the flourescent lighting and the well worn white tableclothes and just enjoy. The servers have been working there probably for half a century and they speak English very well. Seriously, I love this place – it’s good fun food in a tourist-friendly environment. Click on the link to read my old blog post and see some pics.
36, rue du Mont-Thabor, 75001, Tel: +33 (0)1 42 60 27 19

Chez Janou: Tucked away in the Marais, this hidden bistro serves classic provençal fare. Their menu boasts seasonal dishes and desserts. They also have one of the largest collections of Pastis, the traditional French anise flavored aperitif. Don’t skip dessert, you’re in for a treat especially if you order the chocolate mousse.
2, Rue Roger-Verlomme 75003 Tel: 01 42 72 28 41

Technorati Tags: 3-star restaurants, best restaurans in Paris, bistros, Guy Savoy, L’Ami Jean, Le Soufflé, Les Bouquinistes, Paris restaurants, Spring, tag, top

The post Paris Picks: Restaurants & Bistros first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

There was one dish that was a Spring ode to petit pois. I believe it consisted of a bright green cold pea gelée with a bed of perfect little sweet peas on top that had been hand cut in half. Our waiter informed us that this was to “double our pleasure”. All I could think of was, this is going to double my pain because I’m probably going to be the one pea splitting for hours on end.

On top of the split sweet peas perched a small ball of sweet pea mousse and the softest poached egg you have ever seen, the white barely set and still translucent. Our waiter cut the yolk open with a sharp knife individually at the table and a gash of yellow oozed over the little pond of bright green peas. I almost didn’t want to eat it, it was like performance art. (But I was hungry so I gave in to temptation.)

One of the chef’s signature dish is his artichoke soup with shaved parmesan & black truffle garnished with a warm piece of brioche that also has truffles baked in and a smear of truffle butter on top. Heaven? Uh, yeah! I love the way he pairs different breads with each of his dishes. Instead of ignoring the bread basket he brings full attention to it and incorporates it with the flavors. So creative!

A tour of the kitchen after lunch
The staff recognized me from my previous two un-announced visits. I wasn’t going to say anything like “Hi! I’m the one who came in last week to get my papers signed and couldn’t understand anything you said. Remember me?” I didn’t want any special treatment, just to observe and taste the food one final time.

However they did remember me, and served our table with grace, humor, and professionalism. Kind of funny because after we were seated, three of the waiters huddled quietly in the hallway discussing something and they kept looking back over at me. My husband whispered to me, “I think they’ve found you out” and then one waiter finally came over and asked if I was the new stagier (intern). After that I think they made a point to have fun with us.

I won’t go on about all the dishes right now because I’m sure I’ll be writing more about them in the future. I’m sorry I didn’t snap endless photos, but it hardly seemed the time or place to play the amateur food photographer amidst high powered business lunches and ladies who lunch.

Besides how to capture the memory of a delicate translucent egg white opalescent as a liquid opal, or the feeling of warm truffle brioche melting in the mouth, or homemade marshmallows that dissolve instantly leaving a sugary citron flavor to savor? Now who could capture that with a photo?

Technorati Tags: artichokes, Cuisine, Food, Guy Savoy, Paris, peas, petit pois, sweet peas

The post 3-Star Lunch! first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

The restaurant was orginally opened in 1931 by a Basque nationalist. One would never guess from the strings of garlic, peppers, legs of hanging jambon, Basque rugby player photos, pelote memorabilia, and Basque berets displayed on the wood paneled walls. I wrongfully assumed that Basque food was heavy and was so impressed after my first meal that I’ve been bringing friends and family back since. (Thanks Carrie & Sylvie for dragging me out that night long ago!). This is a fun restaurant and it is always packed so a reservation is necessaire.

C’était vachement bon!!!!

L’Ami Jean

27 rue Malar, 7th arrondissement

Tel. 01 47 05 86 89

Closed Sunday, Monday

Technorati Tags: Food, Paris, Paris restaurants, Basque

The post Best Basque Cuisine: L’Ami Jean first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

Strangely enough, Paris has tons of Tex-Mex chains that are surprisingly popular. One such place is called Indiana and they serve huge portions even by American standards. My husband and I checked it out during one of those gotta-have-Mexican-food days. My enchilades tasted the same as his burrito. We were kinda like, “hmmmm, this is odd…” but we gobbled it down anyway just for the novelty of it. We felt sick later.

However if you’ve been living in Paris craving Mexican food then you MUST check out Anuhuacalli. It is owned by a really sweet couple who passionately cook authentic Mexican food. I inhaled my enchilades verdes before I could even snap a photo (sorry) and my amigo opted for a salmon and papaya dish that was equally tempting. The margaritas were the real deal with top shelf tequila. The restaurant is small and moderately decorated with objects and art from Monterey, Mexico. Make a reservation (they speak English, French, and Spanish) and go….

Number two on my list is A La Mexicaine. It’s a festive place for a party with live mariachi music and beautiful decor and good authentic food. Their prefix meal is a great deal and includes a margarita. However, my group all had hangovers the next day and we were NOT boozing it (really, I promise). I’m always wary of pre-blended drinks. I ordered the tri color enchilades with an entrée of ceviche and I think between the six of us we ate through half their supply of salsa fresca.

See…three very happy customers

Anuhuacalli
30 rue des Bernadins, 5th (01.43.26.10.20)
metro Maubert-Mutualité

A La Mexicaine
68 rue Quincampoix, 3rd (o1.48.87.99.34)
metro Rambuteau or Les Halles

Technorati Tags: Food, Paris restaurants, Mexican

The post Got Mole? Parisian Mexican Food first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

If you only have a few days in Paris this is one of those restuarants that you MUST check out before leaving. The fun white coated waiters, kitsch decor, and delicious soufflé’s constitute a thrilling night out without breaking the bank. It’s close to Tuilleries and Metro Concorde so why not complete a day of shopping on the Champs Elysees or trekking through Le Louvre with a 29Euro prefix soufflé meal at Le Soufflé?

As the name suggests the menu is all soufflé’s and they are delicious and light (well, seemingly light). We opted for the prefix menu which includes three soufflé’s of choice: entrée, main course, and dessert. I ordered the fromage, salmon & sorrel, and the framboise combo. All three were delicious.

My girlfriend ordered for dessert the Grand Marnier soufflé and they brought it to her with the bottle – and then left the bottle for her on the table to help herself! Admittedly we all kinda helped ourselves…Framboise souffé is not so bad with Grand Marnier…who knew?

Le Soufflé
36 rue du Mont-Thabor
1st Arrondissement
Tel: 01.42.60.27.19 (They speak English)
Metro: Concorde

Paris restaurants

The post Le Soufflé first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.

The other night my husband and I booked a table at a new Japanese restaurant. We parked our car a block away and as we were walking to the restuarant we stumbled upon a hidden bistro called Chez Spencer. The little bistro was so inviting with an outdoor heated patio and tables softly lit by candlelight that we decided to go in…just to look. Needless to say, we gave up our sushi reservations. Dinner was perfect. The service was french & friendly (oh la la!), the menu was traditional french haute cuisine with a Japanese twist, and the wine list featured great world wines (including fabulous french wines by the glass).

Photo by Jee Park at www.jeethang.com

The restaurant’s head chef Laurent Katgely, is a French transplant to the Bay Area having lived in San Francisco for fifteen years and his sous chef is Japanese. This duo’s magic shows in the attention to detail. I was very happy with my dorade (a rarity in the States) and my husband practically sucked the marrow out of his lamb entree. The Hog Oyster starter was out of this world. I nursed a Premier Cru Chablis (by the glass- how nice) while my husband slurped down a few french cocktails (the blood orange lillet cocktail was delicious).

The next day we were invited to lunch at Chez Papa in Potrero Hill. This bistro serves the classic French fare of moules marinere and steak frites but also adds a small plates selection featuring inseason treats. I ordered their butternutsquash soup with parmesan and truffle oil for a starter and followed with a small plate of baby artichokes wrapped in prociutto and filled with herbed goat cheese. Tasty! We splurged on a warm chocolate cake for dessert.

If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em…

Chez Spencer: 82 14th Street, SF, 94103 tel: 415. 864. 2191
Chez Papa: www.chezpapsf.com
also check out Chez Mama and Pink owned by the same people

The post Paris in SF? first appeared on Amy Glaze's Pommes d'Amour.