Sassiland

A Hungarian Interlude

If you follow me on Facebook, you will have noted that Tuesday morning, after my long (but good!) day in Brussels/Waterloo on Monday, I was grumbling about having to get out and about.

I was sore from hauling around the laptop, hundreds of copies of handouts, and a huge banner system; I was tired from the long day of being 'on,' and wasn't looking forward to what I had to do -- go meet with the assistant principal of the middle school where I am resuming the after-school English group. He is a nice enough guy, but I definitely feel a bit out of my depth with this, third, job, and anything to do with it fills me with a little bit of dread.

So I finally got myself together, and I went to meet with Mr. Y.  Who in fact is a super nice guy and very excited to have me back again for the new school year.  We had a good conversation about restarting things, and I left thinking well that wasn't so bad.

Then I knew I needed to get lunch before going to my French class, way down in the 6th (I was up near Pigalle, so I knew it would be cheaper to find something before heading down to "Catho" as all the cool kids call l'Institut Catholique).  I wandered around a bit, saw an Indian place that looked good, thought about it, realized I was near the street of the first Rose Bakery, and started to head down there, when I rounded the corner and saw . . . .Le Paprika.

French and Hungarian cuisine.  They had paprikas csirke (chicken paprikash) on the menu, and I zoomed in.  They had a covered terrace, so I sat 'outside.'  The waitress was a bit gruff, and I was skeptical of how the food would be, but thought I'll never know if I don't try.

When the waitress came to take my order and saw how excited I was to order the Hungarian goodies (I also ordered a strudel for dessert, and a glass of Egri Bikaver), her attitude changed 180 degrees and she seemed tickled that I was there.

I entertained myself working on some grammar questions in a workbook and people watching.  Finally the dish arrived. And I was in heaven.  It wasn't exactly right, but considering I haven't been to Hungary for three, almost four (!!!!) years now, it tasted pretty darned good.    I savored every bite and cleaned my plate.

The cherry strudel (or meggyes retes, as a good Hungarian would call it) was a bit of a disappointment.  Rather than using real, flaky, puff pastry, the kitchen had used what's known here as a "brick," which is a kind of wrapper that you fry up to make, say, spanakopitta or Vietnamese crispy rolls.  I don't know if it was my imagination, but I felt like I could taste the echoes of previously-cooked meat in the oil.  It's a shame because the filling was dense and not too sweet, just perfect.  But overall the problem with the pastry means that I wouldn't order the ersatz strudel again.

It's funny, because I've not talked much about Hungary on this blog, but those who know me from long date know what an important place it is to me and what an important role it played in my development as an adult.  Of course I grew up in other places, too, but my experience in Hungary in the early 1990s teaching English was one of those times of growth and learning and change that colors everything that I am today.  It's a very precious time and place to me, and I am happy to reconnect in whatever small way I can.

So, while I was grumbly before heading out, I enjoyed my little lunch very much.  They're open as a teahouse in the afternoons, so I may make a stop by there now and again before teaching my class on Thursday afternoons.  They do play music, though, on weekend evenings, and lord knows there's nothing I hate more than a Hungarian restaurant with strolling violinists, so I'll not be going there then!!!

It's kinda bad that they have misspelled the Hungarian way to say "cheers" on their board, so allow me to say:

Egészségedre!!!

 

Two Years Today

We went out Saturday night for our two-year wedding anniversary.  We went to finally try the wine bar in our neighborhood, La Vierge de la Réunion. 

Check out their original artwork . . .wild (this serves also as the cover of their menu).

Marco had wanted to go somewhere 'fancier,' but we had thought to be able to go on Monday night (tonight, our actual anniversary), but a last-minute change to his work schedule on Friday meant that Saturday night would be the night.  Since I work all day Saturday, I knew I wouldn't feel up to a gastronomical palace, and this restaurant near our home is closed exactly on Marco's day off.

By the middle of the meal, he was thanking me for insisting on going there.

It was simple -- we both had excellent steaks after starting with charcuterie from Auvergne and a salad.  We tried a bio wine -- and then Marco somehow divined of  the owner -- who was also our server -- that he knew a friend of Marco's who has a wine store in the 11th. Funny! I said Marco, how can you LOOK at someone and somehow know that he knows Michel?!! But he was right.

The restaurant is affiliated with a wineshop in our neighborhood where Marco has been going recently, and where he's sent me a couple of times to pick things up. So the guy from the shop was there as well, and was finally able to put the two of us together.  He sat with us for a moment or two and shared a glass of our wine.

And then it was so nice to just stroll home in under five minutes afterward.  No metro, no bus.

The fellow at Wine Terroirs blog has a much better description of the restaurant, and great photos.

Today Marco is working a coupure schedule -- that is, he goes and works lunch, then has a few hours off in the afternoon, and then works dinner.  So we're thinking of going to have a glass of champagne somewhere elegant in the afternoon, depending on how his day is going.

So here's where we were two years ago today:

Sorry -- I don't get to see my wedding photos any other way (we don't have anywhere to display any of them), so I post (at least) one each year on our anniversary.  So you have to indulge me.

I guess we'll dress a little less formally for today's coupe à champagne . . .well at least, I will.  Marco will indeed be in a suit.

Happy September 14th!

Dinner at Bistrot Paul Bert

Saturday night we returned to one of our old haunts, the Bistrot Paul Bert.  BPB (as it's not known, but as I refer to it here, because I'm too lazy to write it out every time) is one of those places hailed by American foodies as a top spot for dining in Paris -- nothing fancy, but old bistro stuff.

Marco knew the staff well  -- the owner used to come to the Italian Wine Bar That Shall Remain Nameless, and Marco was a frequent visitor to BPB.  I went several times when I lived here before, and took friends when they visited.

But we hadn't been back in the year and a half since I came back after we got married.  This weekend, however, Stefano and Irene (you may recall we stayed at their home in Piemonte when we went back last September for Marco's brother's wedding and his nephew's christening; Stefano and Marco are schoolfriends from way back) were visiting and staying with Silvio and Elena. Because Silvio's parents are also visiting, they stayed home with the kids and we had an outing with the three couples on a Saturday night!    So Marco made a reservation for Bistrot Paul Bert and he and I met up there after work, Steo and Irene after parading their kids around Paris all day, and Silvio and Elena after a Saturday at home.

 

I arrived first and placed myself at the bar to have a glass of wine after a long day of work.  Marco arrived soon after; who would guess that the two of us could be the first to arrive?! (Marco is eternally late.)  (It was fun watching so many people arrive to ask if the restaurant had a table. . . no.  If you don't book ahead, you don't dine here.  This was their first weekend back open after summer vacation, but still *before* the official rentrée -- or "back to school".)

I loved this sign above the espresso machine.

 

"Drink an extra aperitif and you'll help finance the retirement fund! -- From the Association of Anise Liqueur Producers of the South-East."  Love this sign and Grumpy (?) of the Seven Dwarves atop the coffee grinder.  (Sorry for the reflection of the globe light blocking part of the sign.)

 

Our table prior to our inhabiting it:

 

Marco and Irene

 

Steo and Elena:

 

 

Aftermath (a raspberry macaron was harmed in the making of this picture):

 

We had some really nice wines -- including a 2000 Vosne-Romanée, and to top things off, a 2000 Tokaji .. . .it was glorious.  How I miss Hungary.  The noble rot distilled in that bottle was heavenly.

Yum!  I hope it's not so long before my next return visit.

Bistrot Paul Bert

18, rue Paul Bert

Paris 11ème

01 43 72 24 01

Metro: Faidherbe-Chaligny (line 8) or Charonne (line 9)

Reviews/mentions from:

NY Times (Mark Bittman, April 2007, from an article on where to find the best steak frites in Paris)

"Those who are looking for a slightly more balanced meal might head over to the 11th Arrondissment and Le Bistro Paul Bert (18, rue Paul Bert, 331-4372-2401). This is a calm, mostly unadorned restaurant with a welcoming atmosphere and extremely pleasant staff; the owner was eating at a nearby table and came over and chatted us up for no apparent reason. It's also relatively spacious, though some tables are better than others; one friend seated by a supporting column claims he had to wrap his arm around it in order to reach his food. (A planned renovation will soon remove the table by the column).

The 32 euro prix fixe menu offers pretty much everything the kitchen turns out except côtes de boeuf, though there are the usual supplementary charges for truffles and the like; it's a good buy. We began with fried eggs with truffles and cream, my idea of comfort food and done exquisitely. Salt cod cheeks with beets, broccoli, chopped eggs and artichoke was delicious (and almost as light a dish as I was able to sample on this trip).

The steak (entrecôte) frites was perfectly Parisian, the meat cooked saignant and therefore a tad chewy — which is appropriate — but super flavorful, and the fries just right. Beef cheeks braised in red wine, a real peasant dish, was served in a pot and quite fine, as was monkfish (lotte) with more delicious potatoes, these mashed. A plate of tender, bloody, absolutely stunning squab stole the show, served with a puree of turnips and parsnips.

The desserts were killer, especially the classic Paris-Brest, choux pastry filled with nut-flavored cream. I had been told by an expert that this was the best in town, and although I couldn't verify that, it was astonishing. It was also large enough for four; but since we were ordering prix fixe, everyone at the table could get one. The slightly salty Tarte Tatin was another good option."

Gourmet magazine (Alexander Lobrano, from Gourmet's excellent September 2008 special issue on Paris)

"Le Bistrot Paul Bert has become so popular it can be tough to score a table. What drives this trio of cozy dining rooms decorated with flea-market bric-a-brac is some of the best traditional bistro cooking to be found in Paris today. The chalkboard menu changes often but runs to dishes like coddled eggs with cèpes, coucou de Rennes (a Breton breed of chicken prized for its delicate flesh) in a sauce of morels and vin jaune, and their much-loved signature dessert, a sublime Paris-Brest, the praline-buttercream-filled round choux pastry created to commemorate a bicycle race between the two cities from which it takes its name."

Patricia Wells

"Owner Bertrand Auboyneau is one of my favorite Parisian restaurateurs and I could dine at this boisterous, crowded  old-time bistro once a week, feasting on steak and fries, ultra-fresh fish and shellfish, always imaginatively prepared and served with a flourish. One of the city’s surest bistro bets, with a great wine list to boot!"

Lunch with Wilma at Chez Janou

It's true, I've been quite absent from here lately, as some friends have remarked.  There hasn't seemed to be anything in particular to write about.  I've been working quite a lot, and Marco's been on a different schedule, so we've had evenings together the last couple of weeks, which has been new for us.  Next week he will have the week off, which will be nice for him.  The early mornings (getting up at 4:30 am!!) are killing him, and the work is deady boring, so he's exhausted.  And he hardly had even a day off here or there, so only in the last couple of days has he had a couple of days off or gotten to go into work later. So I know he will be glad for the rest.

As for me, yesterday (Thursday), I went and met for lunch a friend who arrived from London.  Wilma is a Fletcher friend who stayed on after the rest of us left, in order to do a PhD. So I guess that's more properly DR Suen to me!!  She came through with her parents last fall, but it was exactly when we were moving into this apartment, so it was impossible to get together then. 

I took her to my favorite 'happy guest' restaurant, Chez Janou, in the 3rd near Place des Vosges.  Marco HATES this place with a passion, but I have never had a friend or relative be disappointed with a meal there (and it's even more enjoyable now with the smoking ban in place).  As somebody said to me once, this is the kind of place that Keith McNally pays thousands of dollars to replicate in NY . . .but it's the real deal.  And, surprisingly for how many tourists they get, the staff are always extremely friendly.  Last time I was there, with the writing group last month, one member of our group, who had just arrived that morning, wasn't feeling well, so didn't touch his meal.  The girl asked him what was wrong; he assured her it wasn't the kitchen, that he just couldn't think of eating.  They insisted on taking the price of the meal off of our ticket even though we protested, saying it wasn't their fault, that he had ordered in good faith and had intended to pay for his meal. And they did this all without a grimace or a shrug, just some good-natured smiles, all on a very busy Saturday night.

Anyway, since Wilma and I were there on a Thursday lunch in August, the place was pretty empty, so I was able to take pictures with abandon.  I don't know if any of them capture the charm of the place, but take a look:

 

Chez Janou
Paris 3rd
2, rue Roger Verlomme
01 42 72 28 41
Metro: Chemin Vert (line 8) or Bastille (Lines 1, 5, 8)

An English-American Wedding: PHOTOS! (The Second Part)

Finally our cohorts arrived:

Sinky:

Marco:

 

And the beautiful Ms. Byrns-Spencer:

 

Mike & Leslie were lost somewhere around Luton -- well not lost, but blocked due to road closures.

The ceremony was a civil ceremony, led by a registrar from the town.  Mary's sister Megan read a poem by Christina Rossetti, and Steve's aunt Lucie read A Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.  Between the officiant, the registrar, the two readers, and the four-piece female string quartet, there was a lot of woman power at this wedding!

Then Steve and Mary departed for a little spin in this gorgeous restored 1927 Citroen:

 

The rest of us repaired to the garden, champagne in hand, to reflect on the beauty of what we'd just seen and take in all the hats! (I should have done a photo study of the hats, there were some absolutely gorgeous ones).

If you had any doubts about their wedding location, you won't now, after seeing the gorgeous grounds on this beautiful English day in the countryside:

 

 

 

After a little bit, the newly married couple arrived back, and we showered them with rose petals.

And of course we took lots of photos (although, as I said, I missed the chance to take a HATS portfolio).

Here's the bride and the mother of the groom sharing a smile:

 

Leslie borrowed the most *fabulous* hat, which complemented her outfit perfectly, from the friends of Mike's that they stayed with the night prior! Can you believe the luck?!

Here's my favorite photo I captured of the bride:

 

The musicians continued their serenade . . .

Stevie looked so handsome, don't you agree?

 

Next, we'll wrap up with a few photos from dinner.