My backstory and sorry excuse. Ok, I suggested to my longest known friend in Paris, 1953, ok, that we go to Les Philosophes around the block from her home and office. "Oh, she said, my last meal there was awful, what made you want to go?" "Humm, I forget, someone told me about it". "Ok, I said, let's go another place, x." So I show up at what I think is x, but the whole street is shuttered and I limp over to a busy cross street and look for bistros that look interesting. Nada. My iPhone, empty of ideas. So I sit at a bus stop and think, I'll go back to my original suggestion, and by then I'd found a little slip of paper that read "Xavier Denamur, Les Philosophes, etc." written by two of my loyal readers whom l'd lunched with not so long ago. I show up and enter looking bewildered, the place is packed and outside is Artic, "Mr Talbott, the table in the corner," Holy Cow, how did he know? "Who made the res?" Buddha perhaps.
5.5 Les Philosophes, 28, rue Vieille du Temple in the 4th, 01.48.87.49.64, open 7/7 (Metro: ) is what Americans, and perhaps all visitors to Paris think French bistros in the 1930's (think Casablanca) were like; hustle and bustle, hard to talk, huge menus and cheap pichets of wine. This is it. I have plenty of time to look over the menus and carte but cannot see today'ss specials (humm, maybe my ophthalmologist is right and I should get regular not reading glasses). My old friend enters. We look, we consult.
She decides on a first of asparagus but what arrives is a bed of purée of petit pois with lampposts of asparagus and olives stuck in, which several of the folks around us think is their order. We have a great old conversation among the 6 of us and finally she does get this nouvelle Cuisine version, but so does every else. Actually not bad, I loved the tartness of the olives against the tastes of the peas and asparagus. Then she had lamb which was supposed to be a shoulder, which she liked, but I thought was dry and over-cooked and I had a confit de canard that I deemed rather good, albeit with awful fries. The dessert she longed for was out and so we finished with coffees from this coffee-guy Xavier who apparently is a big deal coffee roaster nearby and an owner of this place.
With a bottle of Cahors and the coffees, our bill was 78€. dBs 80.4 although to we two deaf folks it sounded much louder.
Go? You know, I dunno. On a holiday, with few other choices, it is and was appealing.
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