After finishing my meandering shopping trip, I went to the Rue Mercier, a touristy pedestrian street lined with inexpensive restaurants. I had fun reading the prix fixe options on every menu, then picked the smallest and most crowded one for my solo dinner. I sat at a tiny table next to the door, facing out at the people waiting for seats:

I started with what I think is called Cervelles des canuts; fromage blanc (which is a fresh farmer’s cheese that is something like creme fraîche crossed with cream cheese; I’d eaten it for breakfast with sugar and jam when I did home-stays in high school) mixed with fresh herbs and garlic and served with salad, dried ham, and a boiled potato:

I got a quenelle for my main course, though I had to beg off the cream sauce with shrimp. It was unbelievably light and fluffy, with a crisp outer coating (some sort of batter) and the faintest hint of fish flavor. It was served with rice and a potato gratin:

For dessert I had a crepe (pre-made, sadly; you can always tell) with honey. I think it was a local honey, it was very flavorful and not that sweet:

I finally cleared out; this poor guy had been waiting for my solo table for at least half the meal:

After Paris I spent a couple days working in Lyon. The first night I got in late and just grabbed snacks for a belated dinner. For lunch the next day I stopped in a large traîteur on my noon walk, and picked up some little pastry rounds filled with terrine. What a brilliant picnic food! I ate them on a bench, feeling smug about the sandwich alternative. My other favorite snack food was a type of cream puff, without the cream, which I bought at a local chain called Les Trois Brioches. They sell donut-hole-sized beignets and the empty-puff things, which have crunchy sugar on top. I could eat an indecent number of those. The second night I went with my client to the famed Brasserie Georges, which is an enormous restaurant (it seats 450) and has been in operation since 1836. I can’t imagine that it’s the same space, though–it’s a cavernous art deco palace!

Starters were good–the salade lyonnaise is a classic, and my mom’s favorite: frisée with lardons and a poached egg (incidentally, they had used the plastic wrap method of poaching the egg):

I had the house terrine, which was very tasty, especially with the onion confit that accompanied it:

As main courses my dinner companion had the famous onion soup, which was great, and I had a lukewarm and mediocre sausage.

The next night I wandered around a lot, trying to do some Christmas shopping in the hour before shops closed for the evening. I spotted some interesting things (none of which I bought)…

Opinels, for mushroom hunters and a “My First Opinel”:

Reproduction 19th century tradesman’s clothes, at a uniform shop:

Children’s pirate gear at Bonpoint:

Preparations for the Light Festival (there was something to do with Mars involved?), including the enclosure in a giant plastic dome of a big statue in the central square:

Eeek, I’m still alive, just working! And this weekend I flaked out and was lazy during our snowed-in Nor’Easter day, instead of catching up on posts. Anyway, back to Paris…

On Saturday night we ate near the apartment (which was a great little studio in a perfect location–highly recommended). I had so-so boudin noir with apples and potatoes, and Ben had truly fantastic roast chicken. The best thing, though, was the starter: A strong chevre, broiled on slices of spice bread and pear. I am still working on my aversion to goat cheese but despite being a real bottom-of-the-barn stinky variety, I loved this. (Sadly I don’t have any photos.)

Sunday we made our way through the rain to Le Comptoir, Yves Camdeborde’s bistro in a hotel fairly close to our apartment. (When I met Daniel Boulud last spring he was giving restaurant recommendations and this was the first restaurant he mentioned in Paris.) On weeknights there is a crazily inexpensive prix fixe (booked up months in advance), but on weekends it’s just the bistro menu. Apologies for the photos, something went wrong with my camera colors.

I’m mad at myself–I love these simple metal bread baskets, and meant to grab one for myself, since I really do need a bread basket. I forgot, though: Next time!

I’m also in love with the shape of this carafe (and note the fun short squat water glasses!)–I was tempted to ask if I could buy one from them, but I didn’t want to carry it to Lyon.

This very dapper young man was flitting to and from his mom’s outdoor table, snagging his mother’s seared scallops and enjoying his pamplemousse presse. Later I saw him with a friend sitting in the window of the hotel lobby.

The small and cozy dining room:

Ben had roasted rack of lamb, served over roasted red peppers and sprinkled with almonds:

Ok, brace yourself for one of the worst photos ever to appear on this blog. I had braised beef cheeks, served with…elbow macaroni! It was fantastic, so tender and warm and savory, and the noodles were perfectly cooked and a nice change from potatoes, etc. It was great. And mine also was sprinkled with almonds, and then with some lemon zest, which freshened it up nicely. So good, I want to try this myself. However, this photo rots. Sigh.

I am very, very eager to try the prix fixe, and will definitely make a reservation the minute I find out I’ll be in Paris next. I highly recommend the bistro menu, too! Very reasonably priced and a cut above the average good meal in Paris, which…

Finally, Ben took this photo of me, and I love the light and my slightly unfocused gaze. Clearly I needed that coffee!

Wednesday afternoon I stumbled across an afternoon market, which of course made me starving. If I weren’t allergic to half the ingredients I would have asked for a little container of that paella!

I’ve never cooked Poulet de Bresse, but I know chicken in France always tastes more like CHICKEN and less like Something Bland….I assume this is why?

Doesn’t this look perfect for a cold winter afternoon?

Ben came to Paris for the weekend; a long trip for two days but it was so much fun. I crossed my fingers as hard as I could, wishing for a bit of decent weather (Sunday was forecast “Rain and Strong Winds,” or as a taxi driver later called it “une tempête”) and Saturday I got my wish. Ben arrived around 8, napped for a while, and then we indulged the urge for coffee and pain au chocolat before setting out for the Clignancourt flea market. First, though, we wandered through the tiny market at the end of our street–nothing special, just fresh meat and poultry, amazing veggies, fingerling potatoes in a box of soil, fresh sea urchins… You know, the usual.