The Great Parisian Plate Debate

The sign standing on the sidewalk boasts “Wines!” and a quick glance at the windows proves it true – one can barely see inside the bar due to the bottles beckoning cheerfully to you through the panes. If windows full of wine don’t tempt the passerby, the purple façade of Le Verre Volé certainly grabs the attention. Upon passing through its doors, you must resist the urge to fall to your knees and thank the Gods of Wine for such a temple; Le Verre Volé’s walls are packed with wine resting there happily in a rainbow of green, burgundy, and rose colored bottles.

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I could fit into a solitary thimble what I recall about Les Arts Metiers. I remember that Constantino accompanied Dan and I on this final twilight mission, the only one brave enough to respond to our desperate pleas for assistance. I know that it was a Sunday. I recall that the streets were empty, as fittingly were 95% of the tables at Les Arts Metiers.

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The butte of Montmarte in the 18eme arrondissement has traditionally been the stomping grounds of those creative bohemian artists, carousers, seekers of illicit adult-themed entertainment, and Russian invaders who not only bombarded the city during war time but also started the first ever bistro. So it’s no surprise that our visit to the summit turned into one of the more bizarre and entertaining Great Parisian Plate Debate experiences.

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Vieng Siam is a Thai restaurant in Paris’ second arrondisement with all the typical décor one has come to expect from such establishments: chopstick packets on the table, a disco ball hanging pendulously from the ceiling, statues of various deities adorning a flat surface, overpriced Thai beer at the bar, and little wicker containers holding secret condiments.

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We chose Le Bistro les San Culuttes because A) they had wines prominently listed on blackboards outside their café, and B) Paris had granted us pleasant weather, and there were outside seats available. A quick glance at the interior showed what I like to call a “rustic” look – nice wooden floors and tables, comfortable lighting, an inviting bar…dare I say there was even a hint of English pub??

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I discovered La Pinte after my target, L’Urgence Bar, foolishly closed their doors on this particular day. I found myself in dire need to escape the Parisian torrents, as I was brilliantly sans umbrella as usual. L’Urgence Bar’s loss is La Pinte’s gain, and no amount of kitsch – and L’Urgence, which serves cocktails in test tubes and labels their cocktails with such enticing names as The Laxative, has that en masse – makes me regret my serendipitous choice of La Pinte.

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