Arrival and Walkabout

Our first 12 hours in Paris passed by quite pleasantly, as there were no snags in getting to and occupying the apartment we rented for the week (though we secured it less than 48 hours before arriving), finding the nearest supermarket (Monoprix, of which there are 2 within 0.5 miles), and having a couple of enjoyable meals.

The apartment is situated in the neighborhood of Alésia, less than 2 blocks from the nearest subway station. The one-bedroom pied-à-terre is quite small -- as one would expect -- but tidy. I was initially surprised to see that the kitchen is equipped with only a half-height refrigerator as one would expect to see in a dorm room, but my current theory is that it's actually typical of the French style of living; since they're accustomed to buying food every day, there's no need to store large amounts of perishable goods. There are open-air markets selling fresh produce within easy walking distance of everyone, and almost everyone walks to the supermarket so people don't generally purchase massive quantities of groceries on a single visit.

The keys for the front door of the apartment are quite old school: about 3 inches long and one needs to turn the key 2.5 full rotations to open/close the lock. I'd be grateful if someone could identify what the heck the thing on the wall of the apartment is (it's about a yard long). Click on the picture for a larger image:





Lunch was at a pizzeria/creperie around the corner at an intersection of 3 large streets. I'm not a big pizza guy; I'll eat it without complaint but I never select it when there are other options. Pizza has loaded connotations for me, as I equate it with late nights from early in my consulting career when I'd order pizza for my team several times a week so we could crank out work without interruption. Regardless, I do appreciate good pizza and French pizza has never disappointed me. After starting with a charcuterie plate that included some excellent prosciutto (the texture was truly melt-in-your mouth with none of the inedible stringy bits that one sometimes gets), we each ordered a pizza. I will note here that French pizza appears to all be of the thin crust variety. I went with a simple merguez (spicy Moroccan lamb sausage), cheese, and egg pizza while my buddy got one with prosciutto and cheese. Keep in mind that getting an egg on one's pizza here means a barely-cooked sunny-side-up egg in the middle of the pizza. The pizzas had very little sauce -- almost undetectable -- so the cheese actually bonded with the supporting dough, unlike typical American fast food pizza. Not heavily herbed, the pizzas had a thicker cheese layer than I expected but had been cooked in a sufficiently hot oven, as the cheese and crust both sported a good number of char marks. The dough underneath the heart of the pizza was rather soggy, apparently due to oil leakage from the cheese, so it's fortunate that pizza in France is a knife-and-fork sort of thing. The merguez pizza was good overall; there was a nice spice and kick from the merguez and it was not a chore to get through the cheese and crust. The prosciutto pizza was not as delicious as I had hoped; it wasn't bad but I love prosciutto and had rather high expectations. It appears that quality prosciutto does not benefit from the application of heat, as there were no new flavors generated and the delicate salty, porky essence that makes prosciutto so delicious was actually compromised. A nice cheese pizza with uncooked prosciutto might be pretty good, but I think just having prosciutto by itself is the way to go.





Bars, brasseries, and restaurants abound in this neighborhood so we set out for dinner without a specific destination in mind. We found a street that was particularly dense in eating establishments and walked around noting interesting places until we found one that we both agreed was intriguing. While not a foolproof strategy, a restaurant full of locals who all look like they're relaxed and having a great time out with friends is rarely a bad choice. When we first passed by Le Bistrot des Pingouins (yep, "Bistro of Penguins") in the middle of the food walk, we pretty much knew we'd be eating there that night, even though we walked for another 10-15 minutes and passed by at least a score of other restaurants. We started with pâté de foie gras de canard (duck liver pâté) -- no pictures, as we were famished by this point in the evening -- served with soft toast, very caramelized onions, sea salt, a criss-cross drizzle on the side of thick balsamic vinegar, and large cracked peppercorns. The rim of the serving plate was lightly dusted with curry powder. It was tremendous, with the smooth, rich fattiness of the pâté both enhanced and balanced out by the addition of the salty/sweet/sour/sharp tastes of the other ingredients. My memories of pâté involve rather hard toast, so having bread that was toasted but very soft really made this special for me. I ordered 3 varieties of beef tartare -- the waitress asked twice if I understood that it was cru (French for raw) -- one standard, one topped with what tasted like tapenade, and one topped with 2 pieces of grilled soft cheese that I'd guess was brie, though a bit stronger-tasting. Quite good, and the only countries where I'd eat raw beef prepared by strangers are France and Korea. My buddy ordered rumpsteak cooked medium in French, and you can see from the picture below that the French don't like to overcook their meat. I believe saignant means rare, medium means medium rare, bien is medium, and bien cuit is medium-well. All in all, a mighty fine meal to have as the first dinner of the trip.





Time (in seconds) spent going through both Passport Control and Customs at the airport: 30
Typical October Paris high temperature (in degrees Fahrenheit): 59
High temperature today: 71
Coin flips for who sleeps in the bedroom vs. on the sofa lost: 1