OK. I admit it; I confess, I steal food.
No, not from my wonderful friends staffing the stands along the Rue du Poteau, nor Supermarches or Hypermarches, indeed, not even from fecund fields of strawberries, corn or olives lining the roads. No, I steal from my own food at restaurants.
“But that’s not stealing, John, come on….You ordered it, it’s yours.” Well, it may be seen that way in the US, maybe, but not here. (As someone said to me today about banks in France “They think it’s their money, not yours.”)
No, not from my wonderful friends staffing the stands along the Rue du Poteau, nor Supermarches or Hypermarches, indeed, not even from fecund fields of strawberries, corn or olives lining the roads. No, I steal from my own food at restaurants.
“But that’s not stealing, John, come on….You ordered it, it’s yours.” Well, it may be seen that way in the US, maybe, but not here. (As someone said to me today about banks in France “They think it’s their money, not yours.”)
In fairness I should note that Sunday in the JDD version femina there was an article by Brigitte Valotto on some "rights" of diners, that stated that it is indeed legal in France to take an untouched dessert or unfinished wine bottle home. Shortly after the Loi Evin was passed that cracked down on drunk driving, I had some unfinished wine at the end of a superb meal at the old Regalade and was taken aback when the waiter said "Why don't I cork and bag it for you to take home?"
So a slight classification in my list of crimes:
1st are places like Helene Darroze, where the food was so bad, (has it ever been good?), that we used our zip-lock baggies, that we always carry (more about that later) to put the horrible food in and left it for her minions to find under our chairs, a cowardly but effective way of thumbing our nose at the most pretentious chef in France.
2nd was an Alsation place whose name I will not sully by naming, where my buddy Paga and I ate at one night; where we ordered too much food. It was fine, indeed more than fine, the flammekueche was first rate, but too much, so we bagged it for me to dump in a nearby poubelle – except that I forget to pick it up at the end of the meal and when we passed the first vigipirate spot he said "OK throw it in here." "What said I?" "The food." "OMG, it’s on the floor back there."
3rd example occured today when I ate at l’Antre Amis and had one of the best meals of the year; but it was too much. Carefully bagging the beef and later the cheese, I had one very fine two meals ahead of me.
Where to have too much of the best food in a long time.
L'Antre Amis 9, rue Bouchut in the 15th, (Metro: Sevres-Lecourbe)
T: 01.45.67.15.65
Closed weekends
Lunch menu = 32 E
So a slight classification in my list of crimes:
1st are places like Helene Darroze, where the food was so bad, (has it ever been good?), that we used our zip-lock baggies, that we always carry (more about that later) to put the horrible food in and left it for her minions to find under our chairs, a cowardly but effective way of thumbing our nose at the most pretentious chef in France.
2nd was an Alsation place whose name I will not sully by naming, where my buddy Paga and I ate at one night; where we ordered too much food. It was fine, indeed more than fine, the flammekueche was first rate, but too much, so we bagged it for me to dump in a nearby poubelle – except that I forget to pick it up at the end of the meal and when we passed the first vigipirate spot he said "OK throw it in here." "What said I?" "The food." "OMG, it’s on the floor back there."
3rd example occured today when I ate at l’Antre Amis and had one of the best meals of the year; but it was too much. Carefully bagging the beef and later the cheese, I had one very fine two meals ahead of me.
Where to have too much of the best food in a long time.
L'Antre Amis 9, rue Bouchut in the 15th, (Metro: Sevres-Lecourbe)
T: 01.45.67.15.65
Closed weekends
Lunch menu = 32 E
Hi, John, nothing new about Hélène Darroze. Shortly after her ill-deserved 2nd star, we ate there. Poor food, tragic service, and though we didn't steal food, when we tried to retrieve our coats on leaving, having given up on getting dessert/coffee, they mysteriously didn't have them. Madame gave her charming laugh and insisted we'd arrived sans manteaux. It was cold, rainy and snowy, and Wife's coat was an extravagant Big Anniversary present: not likely. We suggested that the vestiare had been raided by burglars, and refused to leave until police were summoned. Imagine our surpise when the coats were produced in ten -TEN! minutes - his from the direction of the vestiare, hers entering by the front door. Madame explained that sometimes it takes a little minute to find the coats. Right.
Posted by: Thewhiningdiner.blogspot.com | July 12, 2011 at 01:27 PM
What a horrible story.
Glad you got your coats if not decent food.
Sad that her buzz carries her so far.
Posted by: John Talbott | July 12, 2011 at 04:15 PM