Day Six

Our days in Paris are, more often than not, a means towards a single end--great food. We began day six on a mission to try Bertillon, purportedly the best ice cream we would ever try.

 

On the way, we passed by Sainte-Chapelle, a structure circa 1200 with knock-your-socks-off stained glass. 

Bertillon was good. Really good. But the best in the world? Probably not. Even in LA, we've got something nearly as delectable--Bulgarini, in Altadena, offers comparably delicious bites, and doesn't require a plane ticket. Oh well. 

After eating ice-cream, we realized it was time for real food. Frenchie, one of the many spots on our "to visit" list recently featured in Bon Appetit, seemed like the perfect choice--a small, charming eaterie with a reputation as the place foodies go to really get their food on. We got there at 6:30 for a 7PM open, and a group of six was already waiting ahead of us. A member of the wait staff explained that we had no chance in hell at making it in the main restaurant because they were closing for a week long vacation after tonight and took too many reservations. By 7:01pm, they were, in his words, "already in the shit over there."

The wine bar, however, was first come first serve, so we braved the rain and waited another thirty minutes, deigning to dine on small plates for the night. Six hours after walking through the doors, we departed, full of foie gras with a reduced consume jelly so full of flavor each bite felt like a meal unto itself, a chopped squid with vinagrette and tapanade, head of pork slow cooked over night, the list goes on. We finished with a pot de creme au chocolat which made all other creamy saucers of chocolate seem sufficiently insufficient as to make me wonder why I've ever ordered a pot de creme before, and whether or not I'll ever be able to do so without disappointment again.

Standing Room Only