The Great Parisian Plate Debate

We were quickly served a large carafe of cold water. For those of you that don’t appreciate this fact, it’s a minor miracle. There were only two people working, and I pegged the waitress to be the daughter of the chef. They were both incredibly nice.

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The inside was full of charmingly garish neon signs befitting a neighborhood pizza joint/bar/café. While this is not an establishment I would cross town for, if in the neighborhood, I certainly would come back for another drink. And cashews!

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« Je le prends à point, s’il vous plait. Et aussi une bouteille du vin rouge. » That’s all you need to know when you’re ordering at Le Relais de l’Entrecôte. They only serve one appetizer and one main course. The menu, which you’re not even automatically presented, has more wine choices (not necessary) and dessert (not earth-shattering). The line outside that perpetually snakes into the street is here for just one thing: the steak-frites.

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I liked Le Corail so much that I took the time to translate what Corail means in English. Per Google, the answer is “corral,” what is a bit perplexing because I don’t recall any of the décor striking me as corral-esque.

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Café Panique is a restaurant that someone opens when he or she is tired of cooking food that potentially scares his or her friends and family. I cannot think of any other explanation for making a soup entirely out of beets, or cooking an eggplant dessert. The oddly delicious thing, which destroyed any hopes I may have of becoming a chef by proving I likely lack sufficient food flair, is that it all tastes pretty good.

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There’s something to be said for a wine bar that has decided that it will only serve Bordeaux wine. Unfortunately, when half your party insists that it’s too hot for a red this decision effectively reduces their expansive list down to just a handful of whites.

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