Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Dinner at a Fancy French Restaurant. In France.


This one the only night in Paris that we made reservations for dinner at an actual French restaurant.  In France!  Le Petite Marguery - Rive Gauche, just on the eastern edge of the Latin Quarter.

A brasserie does not count as a restaurant.  This does.  Once again, I had the three-course prix-fixe dinner.  For the appetizer, I selected a veal dish, in a lemon cream sauce, with capers and fennel.  Basically it was a cold veal piccata.  And that was a very good thing.

For my main course, spare ribs of baby pig with olives.


It was boneless.  I did not expect my spare rib to be boneless, but this is France.  I also did not expect my pork to be this moist.  It definitely had a high fat content, even though it was a rib cut and had no gobs of fat.  It was very filling.

For the dessert course:  souffle!  Cherry souffle, served flambe with kir.


It was still light out, so the flames of the flambe are not visible.  I never have had souffle before, and France has got to be the place to try.  I knew souffles were egg-y, but I thought they were egg yolk-y.  This was egg whitey, like a loose meringue.  Actually, with the souffle being flambe, it tasted like a toasted marshmallow, with cherries in it.  Awesome.

After the dessert course, the waiter brought out a plate of small cookies.


The whites were meringues.  The circles were a crunchy chocolate coated cookie with a slight anise flavor.  The elongated cookies were cake-like in texture.  Very good.  We must have eaten this plate of cookies too fast because they immediately brought out a SECOND plate of cookies.

One of the big disappointments of this trip (other than the Louvre) (and the Picasso) is the fact that I have yet to encounter a genuine snooty French waiter.  Maybe it will happen when I get down to Saint-Etienne in East Central France.  But this is my last night in Paris (except for the single encore night before I fly home next week), and this was my last chance to experience "the real Paris."

Anyway, a great meal called for a digestif:  Vieillard Prune.  Old Prune.


It was a powerful shot of alcohol.  This thing tasted like it was 300 proof alcohol.  I am so glad that the waiter did not flambe my souffle with this.  The whole joint would have gone up in flames.  At the very least, I would have no eyebrows.

Tomorrow is a travel day.  Off to Saint-Etienne to watch some football,

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