The Great Parisian Plate Debate

Hot days in Paris can be exceptionally torturous for American males. Most of us are handicapped by the irresistible urge to wear undershirts beneath our unfortunately long sleeved professional attire, which, when combined with the teeming mass of Parisians rubbing on each other in a skinny metro car, makes these warm days feel particularly hellish. In a failed effort to cool down, the waiter was duly directed to bring us his most stylishly chilled bottle of white wine.

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I don’t know who Général Beuret was, but this fine gentleman sure has a lot going for him now. I assume he met his demise long ago, ideally in a blitz of military glory, so he’s probably not too impressed by the fact that not only does he have a Rue and a Place named after him, but also a cool little bar.

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It took over two months and at least three false starts, but we finally made our way back down to the 15eme. While it had been packed the first time, now that it was nice outside, the restaurant spilled out onto the sidewalk, leaving us a little more room inside.

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The only thing I enjoyed more than the fantastic pho at Le Bambou was watching Christian’s utter confusion as he tried to figure out how the hell he was supposed to eat his appetizer. Just to be clear, that’s in no way to the detriment of my giant steaming bowl of beef noodle soup, which was on par with the best I had in Hanoi. Christian is a novice at Vietnamese cuisine, so naturally I offered no helpful hints, preferring to watch him fumble miserably with his paper-thin spring roll wrappers.

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If you want an intimate meal, keep looking; this is a dinner party. Inter-party discussions last the whole night, and initial questions such as “Do you live in Paris or are you just visiting?” lead quickly into fascinating discussions spanning the gamut. Last night’s crowd was quite multinational, with America, Canada, France, New Zealand and the UAE all represented. The group dynamics were terrific and everyone had a great time.

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The first time I noticed Le Cambodge, I was meeting friends for pre-dinner drinks near Canal Saint Martin. Off on a side street, I wouldn’t have even noticed it, had there not been a long line winding out the door. Knowing nothing else about the place, I made a mental note to come back to check it out. Amusingly enough, that was where my friends were already planning to take me.

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