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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We met at Grand Corona around 6 and began what was quite possibly the hardest bottle of wine I’ve ever drank. We were both in such a sorry state that for the first hour I think we spent more time calling everyone we knew than drinking as we tried to convince them to come help us out for the last three bottles.

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Le Rendez-Vous des Amis is a neighborhood dive situated high up in Montmartre. Just a few minute walk from the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur, it is happily free of the throngs of tourists little more than a flight of stairs away.

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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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There was some fun people watching to be had, one particularly louche example being a well dressed man in his fifties that leaned against the metro entrance for a good 45 minutes leering, singing and bumming cigarettes from people. He looked like he’d been drinking for a while and some fresh scars across his temple definitely added an air of mystery.

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Christian and I were near the end of the road. There were only a few days left, yet there still remained 14 bars. What to do?
The answer was a not as much an choice as an imperative: a traditional “blue collar” European breakfast.

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