The Great Parisian Plate Debate

Set within the Gare de Lyon train station, the station with the completely unnecessary faux palm trees, the blue neon lights of the Le Train Bleu sign beckon you, urging you to pass through its doors and into an arena that appears unchanged for a century. Once inside those doors, consider me surprised if you are unimpressed.

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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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