The Great Parisian Plate Debate

Higuma isn’t a swank sushi place; it’s a dive noodle shop. In a plot twist that many Americans might find hard to believe, they don’t even serve sushi. There’s always a quickly moving line out the door and while there’s a dining room in the back, we requested stools at the counter.

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I love markets. When I lived in London I could be found most weekends at one of their many. I’d even say that Borough market was one of my favorite places in the entire city. While almost every Paris neighborhood has its own street market, few offer the smorgasbord of street food that was quite common in London. The Marché des Enfants-Rouges is the closest that I have found.

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There’s no such thing as a good cheap steak. I should have incanted this truism before I ordered an entrecote off a 22€ three course prix-fixe menu.

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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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« 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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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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