Today, after a quiet night last night, the city of Paris has continued its ban on gatherings which might disturb the peace. However I did pass this peaceful protest near the Embassy of the Ivory Coast in Paris. The banner refers to the events of 9 November 2004, when French soldiers shot into a crowd in front of the Hotel Ivoire in Abidjan, Ivory Coast, killing civilians.
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Last night I had dinner at a Michelin-two-star restaurant. First we met at Buffin's amazing James-Bond-like apartment overlooking the Eiffel Tower and the Invalides. I stepped out on the terrace for a photo but unfortunately am not a good photographer. Still you get the idea of the view. I told him that he has a responsibility, with that kind of place, to have a big party at New Year's and Bastille Day for the fireworks. I hope he listened, but he was busy serving champagne in honor of our American friends whose badly timed second-honeymoon trip to Paris was the reason for our party.
Then we went to the restaurant, a two-star not a three-star Michelin place, but ambitious and not yet in all the tourist guidebooks. It was one of those places where the guests receive menus with no prices. Luckily I was a guest. Everyone at the table ended up ordering the menu inspiration of the chef, "which must be ordered for everyone at the table," with a couple of substitutions here and there. Five or six waiters and waitresses hovered around us all evening. I didn't even have to ask once for my water glass to be refilled. It was an impressive show, really delicious, but confirmed a sad truth to me: I am just not a foodie. I can't imagine spending so much time or money on food. There has been a scientific discovery that some people have up to four times more taste buds on their tongues than other people: they're called supertasters, and I suspect most chefs and food critics are among them. I'm obviously at the fewer-taste-buds end of the scale. I think a lot of ascetics and people who look down on foodies for political reasons probably are too.
Here are some photos of the menu inspiration, which I insisted on taking, much to the mortification of the more sophisticated of the convives. I'm not even sure what all these things are. I forgot to photograph the amuse-bouche, or pre-hors-d'oeuvre. It was a tiny glass tube-vase filled with some sort of delicious broth and accompanied by a croustillant of something vegetable. I forgot because the very young waiter, who was distractingly adorable, knocked over one little tube all over his own vest and the floor. None of us said anything for fear his bosses would notice, and by the time he came back with the replacement vase, everything was cold. He looked around and furtively bent down to wipe the broth off the floor when no one was looking. .I also forgot to take a photo of the picturesque cheese course. I know we had foie gras, pheasant, rouget, and somewhere in there were two or three desserts, a plate of cheese with quince pâté, a velouté of pumpkin, some scallops, etc. etc. and an unbelievably grand cart full of aged Armagnacs, the only thing I was really interested in (no doubt my Irish blood). Unfortunately the other diners had long gone home, and with the uncertainty about the riots and transportation in Paris Saturday night, we didn't like to keep the waiters any longer, and left without tasting them. Some of those Armagnacs dated back to the 1930s. No question, for people who love to eat and have the money, Paris is the place.
ms. rude, you RULE to have taken pictures of the food. i often forget because i want to...eat. :)
Posted by: ptinfrance | 13 November 2005 at 21:02