The Last Time I Saw (and ate in) Paris - Part 3

Photos from a Winter Break

Place Monge, Paris, on a rainy night.

(Note: Part 1 and Part 2 of this series were mostly photos of the things we saw and did on our recent winter break in Paris. This part is all about the food! You can also join me The First Time I Saw Paris, 50 years ago; and for imagined adventures (and loves) in a 1920s fictional Paris, Song of the Amorous Frogs.)

January in the City of Light offers a lot of dark, with the sun coming up at 8:30 and going down again by 6. But of course the streetlights, headlights and neon signs make it still a city of light, with the added mystery of Maigret, in the drizzly winter rain.

Rue de L’Estrapade, Paris 5th.

Not even that drizzly rain can dampen the spirits, nor the beauty of Paris - especially when you’re walking to a dinner at a favorite bistro, where you know you’ll be cozy and warm. For us, Lilane is just such a place. We’ve been going there for decades. The Chef, the Madame, and even the “new” waiter (new, though he’s been there for years now) all welcome us. We go there at least once every visit: this time, twice. It’s near our hotel, so we walk, part of the way through Place Monge, where I snapped the photo above as we hurried to our dinner - hurried not because of the cold or rain, nor because we were late for our reservation. Hurried because we were eager to get to the dinner which lay ahead for us, unhurried, once there, and comforting and delicious.

Dinner at Lilane: Smoked duck breast, on french beans, with truffle oil cream; seared-to-perfection French beef, with onion marmalade; mango and passion fruit souffle (you have to order that at the start, because it’s made as you dine, of course); and a fine French wine for those who want it.

Another evening we headed to Baca’v, another favorite from dinners past - way over beyond the Grande Mosquée de Paris - that’s the minaret in the dramatic night shot above. We’ve been there a few times, and have taken away good memories and tastes. On a previous visit, Rick even negotiated for napkins to bring home as part of his collection of “napkins from restaurants I have loved” - a collection that’s getting rather large by now.

This time, we went in to a warm welcome from the waiter, who assured us that “certainement” he remembered us from last year: he remembered my smile, he said! Need I say that he got a generous tip - not necessarily an expected custom in service compris France.

Dinner at Baca’v: a “pork chop” to drool for; duck terrine en croûte; potatoes Dauphinoise; and for dessert, prunes stewed in Armagnac, with crème fraîche, and a pear and almond tart.

I know that some people complain that the French, and particularly Parisians, are rude to Americans. That has NOT been our experience, especially not in more recent years, and not for younger folks. This year, as almost always, almost everyone welcomed us warmly, like old friends - almost true with some - or at least appreciated visitors. (Could it be that smile, I wonder?) After so many visits, we do know a few of the niceties, and practice them: always enter with a bonjour and leave with a merci au revoir; always begin with our little French, never yell loudly at them in English, because they are too obstinate to admit they really do understand us; never keep the waiter standing waiting as we hem and haw over the menu - especially important since usually there’s only one waiter, maybe two. These little gestures, along with smiles, serve us well, as at L’Assiette, our pick for another night, where both waiter and chef worked hard to give us a delightful, delicious dinner.

L’Assiette is way over in the 14th arrondissement (our hotel is in the 5th), so a bus ride away. And though we’d been there before, some years ago, neither of these gentlemen knew that. Still, both were welcoming. And what a meal!

L’Assiette for dinner: coquille Saint-Jacques; cassoulet; and chocolate mousse perfection. And mustn’t forget the bread.

Since we’d taken the bus to get to L’Assiette, we had our walk after dinner, through the nearby rue Daguerre, a bustling market street during the day, and still bustling after dark - and still festively decorated at almost the end of January.

Rue Daguerre after dark.

Which brings me to another old favorite where we dined twice this trip, Les Papilles. It’s been open for decades, calls itself a “Bistroy” (whatever that might be), always has a set nightly menu, no choices, and became so popular - with loud Americans! - that we hadn’t been back in years. We sort of wonder now why we’d deprived ourselves.

Dinner our first night at Les Papilles: butternut velouté, with bacon and crème fraîche; slow-cooked beef shoulder; Fourme d'Ambert with a balsamic reduction; and chestnut panna cotta, with crushed Speculoos.

And one more, Le Languedoc. A longish walk, down Rue Mouffetard, continuing along Av. des Gobelins, then right on Bd. de Port-Royal.

Av. des Gobelins, Paris.

And there it is, down the dark block, a beacon in the distance, the epitome of that “cozy and warm” I mentioned earlier.

We've been having Sunday dinner here, on Paris visits, for 30 years. Sunday is a challenging dining day, since many places are closed. But not Le Languedoc. When we first dined here, Père et Mère ruled this domain. Now it’s their son et sa femme. It took two dozen visits, but now they even remember us. We even have “our” table. We have become, almost (we like to think), part of the family.

And then after dinner, as a digestif, a long walk up Rue Saint-Jacques, past the majestic (can you think of a better description?) Val-de-Grâce.

Back to our hotel, the garden aglitter at night.

And, if we’ve timed it right, the Eiffel Tower aglitter too. What a way to end an evening - and a visit!

Oh, yes. Mustn’t forget the bread. (This one for one particular subscriber: You know who you are!)