Wednesday, 4 October, The rest of the way to Paris and le Violon d'Ingres

Written 7 October 2023

Our taxi ride from the airport to our hotel was a good deal longer than usual, since we managed to get caught in the morning rush hour, but we still got there a good three hours before our rooms would be ready. We dropped off our luggage and improved the shining hour (and worked on the jet-lag) by strolling the neighborhood getting sunlight on the little zeitgebers in our retinas, reading restaurant menus with lunch in mind. We planned our route to take us by the nearest good-sized Metro station, where we bought a couple of the new Navigo-Easy cards and had them loaded with 10 trips each. We can top them up at self-service machines in Metro stations or, I am told, anytime from our phones. I'll have to get that set up.

For lunch, we settled at a local spot called Félicie and were pleased with the choice. We both had “mixte” (i.e. both ham and cheese) omelets, served with fries and green salad. The other folks there were locals, so the people watching was great.

At the left, David's smiling over one of his favorite desserts—fromage blanc with stewed red fruits. Menus and breakfast buffet labels persist in translating "fromage blanc" as "cottage cheese," to which it bears no more resemblance than do, e.g., cream cheese, crême fraiche, sour cream, ricotta, and yogurt. It's a separate dairy product altogether. What we call cottage cheese is unknown in France, just as fromage blanc is unknown in the U.S. I had coffee and salted caramel ice cream for dessert.

By the time we finished lunch, it was time to check into the hotel, at which point I promptly scared myself silly, on two counts. The moment I walked into the room and glanced at the wall, I realized I had forgotten to pack my little pouch of electrical adapters, so although I have every possible charging cord with me, I had no way to plug any of them into the wall! Where in the world was I going to find those on short notice—tracking them down in the U.S. is a production! I fired up the lap-top and did the two essential searches (travel time to tonights's restaurant on the 92 bus and "electric plug adapters near me") before closing it down again to save power. Then, in repacking my purse—converting back from flying mode to walking-around mode before going in search of adapters—I couldn't account for my camera! Aaargh!

I asked at the hotel desk, and yes, they had about a half gallon of assorted plug adapters they could lend out. Tourists must forget or abandon them, though oddly, few of them had European wall sides. I managed to get one from them that would work. The clerk also recommended a "bazaar" (a sort of dollar store/junk shop/news stand place) that might carry them. The lunch restaurant was en route both to the electronics store and to the bazaar, so I went back and asked about the camera, but they hadn’t seen it. Drat. Fortunately, the bazaar had adapters, so I bought a couple and didn't have to go on to the electronics store. Back at the hotel, I started a detailed, systematic end-to-end search of my room and soon turned up the camera in the wrong zippered pocket of my purse. Whew. Double whew.

Written 10 October 2023

It's hard to understand how I could have lost anything in that hotel room, though, as it's one of the smallest I've ever stayed in. It has a double bed, which I have to sidle around on all sides, and the shower is smaller than the ones in the cheapest Viking staterooms. Even for an Ibis, the hotel is pretty bare bones—just one waste basket, in the bathroom; open shelves but no drawers and not much counter space; no fridge; no bar soap (only shower gel pumps in holders bolted to the wall and the sink); two bath towels and a small bath mat (no hand towels); two paper cups in the bathroom; one plastic chair (which I leave pushed in under the little desk because otherwise it's in the way; I just sit on the bed). It does have a TV, a phone, a hair dryer, and AC, of which I have used only the last.

There's currently a bedbug scare in Paris—some tourists are positively hysterical about it, even though many of the stories (like bedbugs in the Metro) have been debunked. But we notice a difference in the Ibis service. Usually, they're very vocal about being green and leave little notes everywhere about using your towels more than once inviting you to forgo having your bed changed in exchange for free breakfast and whatnot. But not this year. Bedding and towels get changed every day unless you actually fight them off with "do not disturb" signs, overuse of detergent and water notwithstanding. They're taking no chances.

At the left is the distant view from my window of the Tour Montparnasse—the Montparnasse Tower—which sits atop the Montparnasse train station. It's the only thing within Paris proper that's as tall as the Eiffel Tower. That's it on the left-hand side, just to the right of the top of the building across the street.

At the right is the even more distant view, which I captured by leaning out the window and holding my camera at arm's length, to sight down our street, of the Eiffel Tower. Honest, that's it, among the antennas in the declivity between two buildings on the opposite side of the street.

Here it is again, somewhat telephotoed for better resolution. Take note also, alas, of the dark squiggle that grazes its top as it curves up into the sky. That's a mark that seems to be on the inside of my camera lens, so you'll be seeing a lot of it in this blog. I really need a new camera.

Our dinner reservation for the evening was at old friend Le Violon d'Ingres, on the wonderful rue St. Dominique. It's a Michelin 1-star and is a terrific value for money. We got there by means of what has become a new friend, the 92 bus. It passes only about a block from the hotel, runs late into the night, and leads to a surprising number of our destinations this week. The Google "get directions" function has gotten amazingly good figuring travel times between points in Paris, and the city's buses and subways tend to run true to schedule.

As we started out, we noticed one distinct difference of traveling in October. In the summer, we would finish long dinners at 10:30 pm, and it would still be light out. Now, it was getting dark as we left the hotel at 6:30 pm.

Anyway, the founding chef of Le Violon d'Ingres (Christian Constant) retired a couple of years ago and handed the place over to a protégé. The quality hasn't gone down, and the prices haven't gone up. Such a deal. We had the tasting menu (with wine pairing for David), so we ate the same thing.

The house's standard amuse-bouche these days is warm, crusty "gougères" (empty cream-puff shells with cheese mixed into the dough before baking) and toasted almonds dusted with "piment d'Espelette," powdered chiles from the Basque region.

The first official course was a bite-sized crispy cylinder filled with minced cooked salmon and haddock in a lemon sauce garnished with lemon bits, a bit of Salicornia, and dill.

Second course: Pâté en croute of guinea fowl and forest mushrooms with foie gras. The little pile of brown stuff next to it is diced aspic, and the garnish was an assortment of lightly pickled vegetables: white and pink onions and white and pink radishes.

Fourth course: Raviolis of langoustine with a mousseline of artichokes, drowned in a foamy crustacean bisque.

Fifth course: Braised veal sweetbreads on a bed of stewed chanterelles and surrounded by a drizzle of rich veal sauce. The whole meal was good, but the sweetbreads were outstanding.

Sixth course: Breast of farm-raised pigeon from the Landes region, baked in puffed pastry with a salmis sauce. Under the puff of salad (in which you can see mint, parsley, and tarragon) was the confit pigeon's leg.

Cheese: Ossau Iraty made by a Basquo-Béarnais farmer, glazed with a jelly of piment d'Espelette. Much moister and softer than most Ossau Iraty we've encountered, and perfect with the pepper jelly.

Dessert: A traditional "millefeuille" (i.e., Napoleon) with vanilla whipped cream and salted caramel sauce.

Mignardises: lemon marshmallows, chocolate tartlets, madeleines with orange flower water. David took one bite of a chocolate tartlet and set it down again—too rich after all the rest.

After a short and pleasant stroll back to the bus stop, the trusty #92 took us home again.