5.0 Les Mondes Bohemes, 31, rue des Vignoles in the 20th, 01.43.48.69.38 called to me as I continued my quest to eat in the country, in the city - on the Rue des Vignoles, a corruption of vignobles, my handy-dandy Bernard Stephane "Dictionnaire des Noms de Rues" tells me, and it was heralded a few weeks ago as being a "terrasse des vacances" and one of the 10 best terraces in Paris in the same company as Tokyo Eat and the Cafe Marly. Right up my alley so to speak.
The area has undergone Boboization since the days in the '60's when we used to crash at a house (yes, a house, small, but a house) of a dear friend, who's now off cavorting with George Clooney et al in Deauville (tough life these French friends of mine have, houses in Paris and Deauville on a schoolmarm's salary, but then it's Socialism and they believe in science). The area even has goofy cocktail places like this.
The Bohemian World, as this restaurant is called, is a great looking place, sort of like a summer beach restaurant, with vivid colored chairs and lots of greenery and a terrific staff, who once they figured out that my guest wasn't showing, showered me with kindness and even an English/American/speech joke.
OK. So they have two "menus" - one at 13 and the other at 18 E for two dishes (but dessert is only 7 E more so figure 20 or 25 E) and wine comes every whichway at reasonable prices. I didn't really cotton (wonder what the origin of that is?) to the starters but wanted my daily fix of greens, so I had a lovely mesclun salad and faiselle (cheese with herbs) that was surprisingly simple, surprisingly spicy and surprisingly good. Chalk one up for the home team.
Then I had the roasted chicken "filet", how can you screw that up,right? And it came not with dreaded mashies but roasted potatoes but everything was tasteless, where is Mr Mcilheny when you need him?
For my dessert, I had a switcheroo times two; I ordered the pistachio creme brulee - "all out" - "may we serve you the coffee creme brulee" - and then of course they found one more order of the pistachio; all is well in heaven. But throughout, in this totally locally-cliented (where not one patron had a tattoo (yes I peeked) and all the smokers sat on the right of the terrace), unheard of, place in the unreachable 20th, the staff was chipper, flexible and nice to even a foreign interloper from the 18th.
The bill, one of the best prix/qualite deals going - with the 13 aka 20 "menu" plus 1/2 liter of wine, a quite good coffee, albeit poor bread, and M. Delanoye's best H2O, one exits only 27 E lighter.
Go? If you're in the 20th on holiday, why not? You won't run into dsk there, I guarantee you.