Moving the Feast #1

The three ladies enjoyed dinner

What you've all been waiting for- ecstatic descriptions of French culinary delights, scenes you can sigh over and think of jealously.

Juan Pablo and some Norwegian dude rock in sweet Euro-sweaters

We went out to dinner last night in the 3rd, a total of 9 people. It was a restaurant Margaret found online through a French website (a mix between Yelp and OpenTable). We tried to go last weekend, but couldn't get reservations the day of. This week, she booked them early and even called back (in French!) to change the number of people.

The restaurant was called Au Fil des Saisons (The son of the seasons, or just The seasons), and was supposed to specialize in seasonal freshly prepared food (seasonal in January meaning meats and root vegetables, we found out). We wound our ways down the alley-like Paris streets to find a cozy room about the size of our living room, with something like 28 or 30 seats total. One waiter/host/front of the house guy/owner. A menu written on chalkboards with 5 or 6 entrees (i.e., appetizers), 6 or 7 plats (main courses), and 5 or 6 desserts. Price just depends on how many courses you order.

We ordered a bottle of the house red wine of the month for starters- a 2004 from the south of France, and...

Adrian gives his approval to the wine

...walked out 4 hours later, unbelievably satisfied. Livers were eaten, foie gras was inhaled, little mini egg and fish souffles were savored, diabetes-inducing pastries were devoured... the food was fantastic. The house wine was delicious, and more bottles were ordered... until, at the end of the night he gave us a bottle as a night cap. Each table in the place had only one seating. No one hurried us, no one tried to sell us something more expensive... we ain't in America anymore. In fact, the owner was awesome, happily joking around with our whole table, speaking in French but willing to translate in to English, working at our pace... he may not have been the stereotypical grumpy Parisian waiter/host, but he made me want to go back to his restaurant again and again.

Margaret, Britton, and Britton's French friend Marie

I don't think I've ever spent 4 hours at dinner before, but the time flew by. We couldn't believe it was midnight when we left.

We had made plans for later, but didn't really have the time to do them. Instead, we explored a new area of the city and found that Parisians apparently love waiting in huge lines to get in to clubs modeled as sports bars. We also learned to never, ever push the bright yellow button next to the door on the night bus that looks very much like the button to open the door. In fact, it is the button to open the door, but the bus drivers really hoard their door-opening power and do not appreciate it being usurped. Ah well...