Paris dining experience worth the wait

A Paris dining experience can provide much more than just a good meal.

OH THE French! You can’t help but love them. No, No, No?

The night was to start with champagne on the 56th floor of the Tour Montparnasse which, according to the internet, has the best views of Paris. The only problem was we didn’t have a reservation.

The bar was full. It made no difference that we had travelled from Australia.

It made no difference that we were travel writers eager to tell the world exactly how magnificent the views were. There was simply no room for a Paris dining experience at this inn for us.

Montparnasse is on Paris’s famous Left Bank in the 14th arrondissement.

Dinner, at Le Bistrot du Peintre, was in the 11th arrondissement.

Taxi? Of course that should be easy in a city the size of Paris on a Saturday night. No. We waited at a rank. Waited, and then waited some more.

At this stage we had been dressed and ready for bubbles for more than 90 minutes. And not a drop had passed our lips.

Back to the hotel to start over

We headed back to our hotel The Pullman where the ever-pleasant concierge soon had us on our way.

Our two taxis were weaving and dodging their way across the city when suddenly we stopped. We were at the front of the traffic snarl so I could see what the problem was.

A group of monks had formed a line across the road in protest (I had no idea what about) and were bringing Paris to a standstill. Monks for God’s sake!

I couldn’t help myself. I sang. “Here they come, walking down the street, they get the funniest looks from everyone they meet. Hey, hey they’re the monks!”

The French were less polite. Surprising, I know.

They blew their horns. Stretched out of cars screaming obscenities. But the monks did not budge. They were men on a mission.
My travel mate let’s call her Qantas was ready to go home. The night had started badly and was getting worse.

When the chaos cleared and the taxi delivered us to Le Bistrot du Peintre I told Qantas that if she came inside I would order her the most expensive bottle of rose her favourite drink.

Even before we sat down at our upstairs table for our Paris dining experience I said to the waiter: “Two bottles of your best rose thanks.” He turned to me, looked me in the eye, and said: “No”. And then he walked off towards the kitchen.

Attitude? Our waiter has plenty

We sat for 10 minutes studying the menu. The rose was in fact the most expensive wine on the wine list so I knew he couldn’t have thought I was being cheap. The waiter walked past about five times. Eventually I said: “Could we get those bottles of the Rose de Porquerolles (dom. de l’ile) please?”

“No,” he said. “You must have a red wine as well.”

C’est la vie, I replied. We needed a drink and there was no reasoning with this man.

Bistrot du Peintre (The Painter’s Bistro), the oldest in the Bastille Quarter, opened in 1902.

Between the two world wars the room in which we were sitting was used for political meetings. Today, the area once again was home to many artists and the neighbourhood was teeming with galleries and small performance venues.

The decor was very art nouveau and the restaurant itself was filled with people in their early thirties drinking wine and creating a crescendo of noise as the night went on.[/box]

We were halfway through our rose when the waiter returned.

“I’d like the terrine,” Qantas said. “No,” said the waiter. “You will have the snails. Is better.” She smiled and nodded. Qantas insisted on the terrine. She was not going to be dictated to. Bad choice. The terrine was terrible, the snails sublime.

The food traditional French cuisine was very good. You should expect to spend about E30 ($A38) on a three-course meal. It is open every night between 9pm and 1am.

A language problem

The dinner continued down this almost comical path. The waiter wasn’t rude. He was direct and always correct. Perhaps his English was not great and it was a language thing. I know our French was terrible.

At the end of the night we paid our bill gave him a good tip before seeking his advice. After all, he’d been right about everything on the menu.

We needed advice on where to go next.

“Is there a good club nearby where we can listen to some music?” Qantas asked.

The reply was similar. “No. You are too old to go out in this neighbourhood,” he said.

Beaten, but not broken, Qantas asked about the adjoining neighbourhood. “Are you gay?” She shook her head. “Then no.”
Now we were actually beaten so we retreated to The Pullman and the Left Bank.