The Great Parisian Plate Debate

La Belle Hortense is probably one of the coolest bars I’ve been to in Paris. While I’ve never had aspirations to open a bar, this place makes me ponder the feasibility of opening a similar place in NY or DC. Part bookstore and part wine shop, I found this self-titled “literary bar” to be inexplicably charming.
Situated on Rue Vieille du temple, I’ve walked past it a hundred times and always wanted to go in, but never did until now.

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While the selection was small, the Italian wine we ordered was only 15€ and extremely tasty, and the meat was exceptionally generous for the price. They only charged 4€, and it was twice the size and quality of others I’ve been served costing more than 10€. So, even though it doesn’t technically count as a bar for the GPD, I highly recommend this fine establishment. I was actually kind of disappointed that I had to leave for my dinner reservation, as I wanted to check out their menu. The inside was promising, and I would certainly go back for groceries as well.

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The first time I came to Batofar was for a concert. I didn’t know anything about the venue, and in a rush I scanned through their website just long enough to find the address. I googled it, saw it was across from the Bibliothèque nationale de France, and think about it. As I biked over, I realized that the BnF faces the water. It turns out that Batofar is a boat (bateau…duh) that hosts concerts and DJs.

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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 somehow drew the short straw, but before I could take my seat in what seemed like an 18” gap between the bar and the window, the waiter had to pull another occupied table out of the way so he could move ours. Grinning and cracking smartass comments all the way, he waited for me to crawl in then shut off my exit. The bastard was clearly enjoying the entire thing.

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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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