The Great Parisian Plate Debate

This particular bar was recommended by a certain member of our Velib entourage, and it was a nice ending point for the evening. The theme of the décor is “red and dim,” the comfortable plush seating addressing the former and the classy ensconced lighting the latter.

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The second arrondissement, as you may imagine, is a central neighborhood of Paris. All points East, South, North, West….equidistant! Each cardinal direction at your beck and call – it’s a beautiful thing. This makes the Café Noir a suitable meet-up bar prior to any pub crawling, and on the off chance you don’t have a route determined, the Café Noir is in a lively locale in which there is no shortage of bar suitors.

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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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I’ve always said those Parisians are industrious folks, and they have validated my past compliments by making places like the L’Arrosoir open for business on lazy Saturday afternoons. The restaurant’s proximity to the park - i.e., directly below it- combined with the plethora of tables spilling out of the café’s doors onto the sidewalk create an inviting atmosphere difficult for anyone to turn down. There was also a white pit bull scampering around the front doors without a leash, and the potential for a vicious canine attack on our ankles while chugging a manly bottle of rosé was too enticing to pass up.

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The lack of customers during the lunching hour, combined with the quasi-backyard atmosphere, contributed to the “trespassing” feeling, but luckily we here at the Great Plate Debate are brave souls. If we had been men of lesser fortitude I may not have been forced to write a poorly structured essay about this restaurant. As it was, we had cautiously reached the back of the rectangular restaurant by the time a cordial gentleman popped out of a side door and offered us a prime seat in front of Jesus.

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