The Great Parisian Plate Debate

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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Now I could be wrong, but my understanding of the new smoking ban is that an establishment may have an outdoor smoking area as long as at least one side remains open. Good Lou seems to have blatantly ignored this, rolling down a third wall of clear plastic sheeting. This did an outstanding job of sealing in that extra-sweet acrid smoke you only get from French hand rolled cigarettes.
Well done sir, well done. Except that I don’t smoke, and everyone else in Paris does.

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I had plenty of time to review the list of potential culinary mishaps on the metro ride out to the 20th arrondissement. Sadly there are no direct routes for me and I was left alone to my thoughts of accidentally ordering the spleen of an elderly lamb, marinated in a pineapple-blood sauce and served with a side of river grass. Eventually I popped out of the metro and onto the windy streets of eastern Paris, where I promptly followed my common Parisian rule of walking off in the wrong direction. Twenty minutes I found myself standing on the threshhold of the Great Parisian Plate Debate’s first restaurant - le Casque d’Or.

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