5.5 La boite aux lettres, 108 rue Lepic in the 18th, 01.42.51.76.84, closed Sunday nights, (Metro, nope, bus = Montmartrebus) is a place someone told me about and was open on Mondays in August, so I invited my two buddies from the Left Bank to try it out. I entered a bit early, took one look at the menu, Fish n chips, Croque Madames/Messieurs, Cheeseburgers with bacon, Holy Cow, how do I explain this to my friends? Walk out, to where? Jeez. Chicken that I am and devoid of options, I order up wine for the three of us, one red, one white (since they're a Jack Sprat couple) and wait.
My friend enters, waves, sits, wait a minute where is his husband? Sick. Ok. That's ok. But we've got all this wine and a menu that looks horrid. Yikes. Plus the fish n chips and fish burger are no more.
No problem, my friend orders some beets and goat cheese and they're surprisingly good, if not great. Except for the screaming French infants, life is great. Then he had a risotto of the day (with veggies) and I a onglet of beef (ordered and served beautifully blue), wait a minute, this stuff is not from Metro, it's seriously good and between talking and eating I forgot to photograph them. To finish we sort of shared a wonderful mango, chantilly concoction.
Our bill, plus one coffee and a carafe of water, was 82 E. dBs = 71.1 despite the screaming babies.
Go? You know, I really hate people who say "you can eat anywhere in Paris," or "you should have been at Pyramide in 1953." But you know, occasionally you tumble butter side up. Who knew this dump could put out such great food. On the top of the awful hill? Astonishing, wonderful, probably never to be repeated but I'll remember it.
Sorry for the malfunction of photos, to make up for it here's a tattooed beauty from the quarter.
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