Back from the Crypt

Hello to each of my fabulous foodie friends. It's been quite a while since I've updated La Flavoriser, but don't fret - my hiatus was only temporary. I've been back in the United States for slightly over a week and I must say, my European days seem unfortunately more distant as time passes. I'm back, however, and ready for some R, R, &R; Rest, relaxation, and restaurants. While I would love to feast upon French fare and bask in the nostalgia that would logically follow, I know that any French restaurant in the Philadelphia Metropolitan area would only be a let-down. I'll have to settle for something that is actually damn good, even off of route 76 West; Bluefin.

Bluefin is a shopping center BYOB sushi joint. From the outside, it doesn't look like much. Even from the inside, it still doesn't look like much. And then the food arrives - flavorgasm. But there's still so much more to Bluefin that makes it one of my favorite local spots. First, it's a definite hierarchy. The "regulars," (my parents included) get treated like royalty. My family walked into the restaurant and was greeted with a friendly, "Hoyyyy," which was all too familiar. At one point in our meal our table was visited by an Asian woman who is apparently the head chef/owner's sister. I didn't know her name, social security number, or credit score, but I did know she was glad but not surprised to see my family on a Wednesday evening. And yes, like most other days at Bluefin, we secured our reservation well in advance. The most frequent visitors have the opportunity to name their own maki rolls -- an ultimate status symbol for the greater Main Line area. I won't blow up anyone's spot, but if you dine at Bluefin, you'll begin to know these families by both name and fish. Everyone within 20 miles of Philadelphia's city center has heard of Bluefin - it's practically legendary among Jews and Gentiles alike.

In Paris, sushi was an extremity. I either ordered below-mediocre sushi delivery, or was forced to pay outrageous prices for poissons frais. In lieu of this harsh reality, it has been almost five months since I've eaten great sushi. Surely you realize, as I do, that this is nothing short of a cuisine crime. There are few things in life I enjoy more than the consistency of raw fish against my taste buds.

I wasn't starving (crazy, I know), so I decided upon an appetizer and a maki roll. I began with an order of shrimp shumai. Call me "safe" and "boring," but I was reminded of what I'd been missing the minute my teeth sunk into the piping shrimp dumpling. This was the start of something good, don't you agree?

Following the shrimp shumai came the Marlee Roll, probably named after some elitist Philadelphia family who's spent an overwhelming proportion of its disposable income on sushi. The Marlee Roll was comprised of tuna on top of a crunchy spicy yellowtail roll with roe. I ordered the roll without "crunchies," as my mother has been pressuring me to eat healthier. I'm sure this made quite the difference. The fish was indescribably fresh, and the roll came with enough spicy mayo and wasabi (I'm a spice fiend) to keep my tongue tingling. The roe was red and green (Merry Christmas?). You really must dine at Bluefin to understand; out of the myriad of sushi restaurants I've frequented in NYC and other reputable locations, Bluefin keeps me coming back.

I'm still unaware of the status of Bluefin's dessert menu, or if there's even one at all, but at the conclusion of each of my Bluefin meals I've been presented with a plate of fried banana with honey, orange slices, and honeydew. The honeydew I could have done without, the orange was secondary, but the banana was the icing on the sushi cake. That sounds foul, but try and picture the metaphor instead of the literal translation. And it worked out perfectly - my mother was sitting across from me, and, as you may recall from earlier posts, she's not usually inclined to eat. This left me with more banana than usual - a situation I was pleased to embrace.

After my exquisite sushi dinner and a few glasses of my mother's 2008 Cakebread Chardonnay, ("very expensive," she claims), I was floating above the clouds. I recommend Bluefin to anyone even remotely close to the Philadelphia area looking for quality sushi in a relaxed setting. The décor isn't spectacular, nor is the service (unless you dine there weekly), but it's consistently delicious and serves the freshest fish in town. No doubt I'll be dining here several more times before my much anticipated return to Atlanta, and, if I'm lucky, I'll earn the rights to a Flavoriser Roll. Contact me with any creative maki suggestions. Happy New Year!

Dine at Bluefin:

1017 East Germantown Pike

Plymouth Meeting, PA 19462

(610) 277 - 3917

Hasta La Gnocchi Siempre

It was a Thursday night, and like most Thursdays, I was hungry. My friends Caroline, Kelly, and I (they've been waiting for this moment) decided to do something a bit different. Although I know I'll regret feeling this way in about a week when I return home, I couldn't have eaten one more onion soup, order of escargots, or steak frites. I needed to diversify my portfolio, but I knew that if I were to branch out, it would have to be authentic and delicious, the first being an obvious prerequisite to the second. After hours of deliberation, and only after I had checked just about every food guide I'd ever heard of, the three of us came to a consensus.

We decided upon l'Osteria - a hole-in-the-wall Italian bistro in the Marais that is known for its alleged "best gnocchi in Paris." The restaurant had no sign or street number - just a small stand outside with a menu reading its name in fine print. If I hadn't searched for a picture of the storefront online before arriving, it's likely I wouldn't have been able to find it. This place was absolutely adorable and très romantic -- a tiny restaurant with about 8 simple wooden tables, paintings of seafood on one wall and antique photographs of Italy on the other. The menu was printed first in Italian, then in French, and the one Italian waiter also happened to own the place. My friends and I were the only Americans in the restaurant, indicating that l'Osteria is still a well-kept secret.

J'avais faim. Beaucoup de faim. And the menu was making my stomach growl by the second - everything sounded fit for a queen. Kelly and I wanted to split the black truffle gnocchi and the mushroom risotto for our entrées; much to our initial dismay, the risotto was only prepared for two. What was a foodie to do in this situation? The answer was clear -- split the gnocchi to start, and order our own risotto after. Too much food? No such thing.

What you're looking at was quite possibly the most heavenly dish to ever grace my tongue. Sometimes with gnocchi, it takes a few seconds to get past the outer pasta before reaching the potato inside. After this meal, I realized that technique is amateur. The "outer pasta," if there was any, practically melted in my mouth, allowing the potato to collide with the black truffle chips and truffle sauce into gnocchi goodness. I am literally overcome with emotion when I think about this dish. Needless to say, these lovely lumps were gone in sixty seconds.

After eating the gnocchi, I knew my entrée couldn't come close. And I was right -- the mushroom risotto was very good, but it would've had to have received a 20 out of 10 to beat what preceded it. I must say, I preferred the risotto to the mushrooms themselves - they were a bit flavorless and drowned in the risotto cream, which you'll notice is quite heavy in the picture. It certainly would have been more climactic to start with the risotto, but we live and we learn.

At this point in the meal, I was stuffed, but I wasn't about to let that stop me from asking for a dessert menu. Turns out, there was no formal menu, but the chef, who had stepped in at the end of the meal because the owner had left (we basically closed the place), recited the four desserts that were offered. We decided on the panna cotta, an Italian dish consisting of a mixture of cream, milk, sugar, and gelatin. Believe me, it tasted better than it sounds, especially with the raspberry and butterscotch reduction. Crème brulée is really the only dessert I can think of that even slightly resembles panna cotta, albeit only the creaminess aspect (for those of you having trouble imagining how the dessert would taste). Come to think of it, this was a rather creamy meal altogether. Remind me to come back here for another fabulous evening when I'm old and losing my teeth.

The next dessert was on the house, complements of our Egyptian/Italian chef (Egyptian ethnicity, Italian cuisine). We were served tiramisu, but not like I've ever had it before. The fluffiness of tiramisu is usually consistent throughout, but at l'Osteria, the tiramisu had more of a tart or jelly consistency with a thick powder on top. I remember Caroline making me laugh while eating it, and I coughed up the powder, which made quite the mess. Although it was extremely rich, I found the contrast between dry and damp refreshing.

Our meal would have been perfect, if not for a slight altercation toward the end. During several moments of our dinner, a noticeably inebriated Lebanese man found it appropriate to sit at our table and ask us penetrating questions. We brushed it off until we were leaving the restaurant, when I was asked by the man if he could "give me his card," in hopes that our one-ended conversation would turn into something more. When I politely replied that I had a boyfriend, he answered that he didn't care, and then pointed out to me his wife, who had been sitting at the table with him the entire night. She smiled and waved, as if somehow this was at all socially acceptable.

I will never forget my evening at l'Osteria, the Lebanese polygamist, the Egyptian chef to whom I gave my blog address (I hope he's reading this right now), or the "dank" black truffle gnocchi, to borrow a term. Our meal was quite satisfying (the best gnocchi in Paris, indeed), and I'm confident I will return to l'Osteria upon my next visit to Paris. You should, too, especially if you're looking for some Lebanese loving...

Dine at l'Osteria:

10 Rue de Sévigné

75004 Paris

+33 1 42 71 37 08

Study Break of Champions

Amidst the not-so-craziness that is abroad finals time, my friends and I decided we needed a break. From what, exactly, I'm not so sure, but I do know I had previously made about three failed attempts to dine at Hiramatsu - an haute French, Michelin-one-starred restaurant in Paris's upscale 16th arrondissement. For those of you unfamiliar with Michelin ratings, here's how they work: one Michelin star deems a restaurant "very good in its category." Two stars mean excellent cooking and worth a detour, and three stars mean exceptional cuisine and worth the journey. Not every restaurant merits a Michelin star -- it's quite a prestigious ranking system, so to receive only one is still very highly regarded.

I was recommended this restaurant by my fellow friend and writer, Guest Star, and wasn't let down. I somewhat underestimated just about everything about Hiramatsu, from the dress code to the quality of the food. The men were wearing jackets and ties, the women in heels, and I was in jeans and an old sweater with my hair a mess from having walked to the restaurant in the rain after doing my investments homework (sounds fun, right?). Despite these "obstacles," however, I couldn't have felt more in my element, as the establishment was still rather small and understated. As my friends and family know, I practically thrive in restaurants like this, regardless of most everything but the food. There was, however, much else to regard; the décor was simple but elegant with slight Japanese accents, like the black and white marble ledge lining each wall. The ratio of of servers to patrons was enormous - I felt as if there was a different waiter for each course of our meal.

My favorite things about haute French restaurants are the little surprises brought out between what you've ordered. Perhaps I've just had good luck, but I have enjoyed virtually every "between-dish" (so I'll call them from now on) I've ever been served. I think their element of mystery keeps them appealing.

When I first arrived, I was greeted with a bowl of honey roasted pistachios (not pictured) and two types of pastries resembling miniature cinnamon buns, but flavored with blue cheese. Sweet and salty -- the perfect combination to begin my French/Japanese meal. I hadn't ordered either of these items, which means they fall into my aforementioned "between-dishes" category.

Our second course was another "between-dish" that included thin slices of smoked salmon served with wasabi cream over a fennel purée. Normally, when given the option of raw fish, I choose tuna, but this salmon was exceptional. It was the perfect thickness so as not to be too fishy, which is often my issue with salmon. The wasabi added the perfect Japanese touch, and the fennel just a bit of extra umph. Delicious.

So, what did I actually order? I thought you'd never ask. I can say with no hesitation that Hiramatsu's agneau (lamb) made a lasting impression in my mind. Though it was no more than a few hours ago, I can still taste the tenderness of the meat against the truffle reduction and the onion confit. And, as an added bonus, I discovered a slender piece of foie gras hidden underneath the slices of lamb. A wonderful surprise, indeed. If I were less civilized (and perhaps if I had spent the semester in Atlanta instead of in Paris), I would describe this dish as "finger lickin' good."

Ah, les desserts. There always seems to be more than one, usually because I dine with others and we like to sample different things, but I have a feeling at Hiramatsu I would have ordered each of these regardless. On the menu, all we saw were "caramel" and "chocolate," so we decided upon the following immediately. We were unaware, however, of the creativity that would follow.

This doesn't look like much (as a result of my excellent photography skills), but what you're viewing here is the Fondant au Chocolat Hiramatsu, which is dark chocolate with dark chocolate mousse inside and a pie-like crust on the bottom. It was served with a side of vanilla ice cream -- typical, you think, but it was all too complementary. This dessert was delicious, albeit one of the more traditional components of the meal. At the end, when there was but one bite left, I took one from the team by eating it -- don't worry, I asked first.

The second of our desserts was incredibly special. Below you can see our "caramel box" (similar in consistency to the top of a crème brulée) with a hybrid of vanilla mousse and vanilla ice cream inside. Next to the caramel box is a scoop of the most divine caramel ice cream (drizzled with caramel sauce) I've ever tasted. Additionally, and quite purposely I'm sure, there were little bits of caramel-ice in the ice cream, adding just the right amount of crunch to my bite. It's almost 2:00 PM in Paris as I'm writing this, and while I haven't eaten anything yet today (I just woke up), I would be thrilled for this dessert as a first meal.

Our last two desserts were complements of the chef. First came a plate of half-truffles (not pictured) -- simple but savory (I could always go for a truffle). Next, we were served pistachio mini-macaroons with white chocolate inside, each with their own spoonful of white chocolate yogurt and a white grape. A bite of the macaroon, then a taste of the yogurt and the grape to balance out the aridity of the pastry. It was an exquisite balance.

My meal at Hiramatsu was absolutely superb. Many times, with haute French restaurants like this, you get the feeling that the chef is trying too hard to be creative with either his food, his presentation, or both. This was not at all the case with Hiramatsu; everything was delicious and paired extremely well with one another. The transitions were smooth and, despite the European-sized portions, I left undoubtedly satisfied. The food was inventive without being excessive, which is just what I needed from my "study break." It was all class from start to finish. And, at the end of the meal, l'addition (the check) was served in scroll-form tied with a ribbon served on a silver platter. How's that for service?

If ever you're visiting Paris for a short time and are looking for one special meal, Hiramatsu should be it. It's delicious but subdued, and you'll leave feeling glad you made the splurge, not regretful. Although I suppose that depends on who's paying...

Dine at Hiramatsu:

52 Rue de Longchamp

75116, Paris

+33 1 56 81 08 80

"The belly rules the mind." - Spanish Proverb

This weekend I went back to Barcelona for the second time during my study abroad experience. I had a small agenda but high hopes - this was not a sightseeing trip for me, as I had done the major to-do's in October. All I wanted out of my weekend excursion was to relax during the day, do a bit of partying at night, and of course, as is the agenda for most of my vacations, eat well. Two of my favorite meals were lunch, which in Europe is generally more celebrated than dinner. I'll write about the lunch where I took pictures to keep things interesting.

Saturday's lunch was at a postcard-sized restaurant called Cal Pep, located in Barcelona's trendy Born district. Earlier that day (but not much earlier) I had rolled out of bed after a long, relatively sleepless night at a beach-front discoteca. It was 2:30 PM when we arrived at the restaurant, our first activity of the day, and I was famished. You can imagine, then, how I felt after an hour and a half of waiting to be seated, pushed up against a wall in a cramped restaurant. For the sake of Zagat and a few friends who had visited Cal Pep, my group and I decided to swallow our pride -- little did we know we wouldn't be swallowing much else for nearly ninety minutes. By the time we were seated I was so hungry I could have eaten anything -- and I did. I was finally placed next to a girl with dreadlocks and a piercing between her two eyes (who knew they could even do that?), so what excuse could I have had to eat conservatively (not that that's ever an issue)? I had to one-up her.

As you can see by the picture below, which I received many awkward glances for taking, the restaurant is extremely narrow and has a bar with only about 15 seats. If you look closely, there is a door with a round window in the back that leads to the "main room," which has about three tables, all of which are reserved for those smart, non-masochistic customers who decide to call in advance. I had obviously left either my brain or my means of reservation-making at home. And my phone was in my pocket, so...

My group and I opted not to view the menu, so the chefs were free to do their magic. I generally prefer meals like this, as they should be reflections of the chef's artistry and not necessarily of what you're craving at any given time. Our first plate was a toasted roll served open face with tomato and olive oil. It was good -- not mind-blowing, but good.

Next, arriving simultaneously, were the fried green peppers and fried seafood (calamari, anchovies, and prawns). Needless to say, it was the perfect meal after a long night out...

I couldn't bring myself to eat the anchovies as I'm usually not a fan (I tend to ask for them on the side of my caesar salad or forgo the salad altogether if they're mixed into the dressing). The calamari and prawns were both tasty, although in my state of restless hunger I was a bit too impatient to unwrap and devein each individual prawn.

You may think I'm finished, but I'm just beginning (keep in mind this wasn't all for me - there were four of us at lunch). After the fried everything, the chef prepared for us tuna tartare with sesame seeds. This was one of my favorite parts of the meal, and although it sounds Asian, it didn't taste anything like teriyaki or soy. It was very well flavored; the perfect ratio of salt to fish.

Our next dish I enjoyed just as much if not more than the tuna. We received a bowl of clams in a mouth-watering white wine and butter sauce with bits of bacon (not to be confused with bacon bits). I dipped the bread we were given into the clam sauce after the clams were no more -- it was fabulous.

Next came the "traditional" (for Spain at least) Spanish omelette, which consisted of potatoes, sharp cheddar cheese, bacon, and a bit of mayonnaise on top. It was quite good, definitely the most memorable of the omelettes I've eaten in Spain. We were seated about five inches away from the stovetop, so lag time for the food was next to non-existent. As a result, the omelette practically melted when I stuck my fork into it.

After the omelette came the most interesting dish I've eaten abroad. Below is a picture of our cuttlefish with chickpeas. I still can't decide how I feel about this dish -- it had a rubbery texture against the tongue but a similar consistency to the chickpeas after chewing it. This fish had a duller taste than most, which can be a positive while experimenting with new foods. It's doubtful that I'll ever order cuttlefish in a restaurant again, so it's a good thing I got my fix.

Still going...

The pulpo followed the cuttlefish. I didn't know this until I googled it, but pulpo is Spanish for octopus. It was served over baked potato slices with vegetables and paprika. I tasted the fish but managed to exclude the tentacles from my bite. It, too, was rubbery and chewy, but not necessarily in a good way. I won't be eating pulpo again.

And last but not least (if this were pulpo, it would be least), we ate grilled calamari with assorted vegetables. I preferred the fried version, but perhaps that was just as a result of my morning-after state. This calamari was, however, one of the freshest components of our lunch.

Forgive me for the quality of these pictures, but hopefully you get the idea. Overall, I would describe my meal at Cal Pep as one that seemed like it would never begin, then seemed like it would never end. The food was tasty overall, with several standout dishes like the tuna and the clams. Had I not taken pictures and diligent notes on my blackberry, the rest might have faded into my memory. Next time I'm in Barcelona, which I'm certain will be sooner rather than later, I will probably not return to Cal Pep unless a reservation is made in advance. While I enjoyed my experience and got the chance to sample new creatures of the sea, there are very few restaurants, in my opinion, that merit a 90-minute wait. I would recommend this spot for any seafood fan looking for authentic Spanish fare. And the fare, not too pricey but quite filling. The only things I needed after this lengthy meal were a napkin and a few more hours of sleep...

Dine at Cal Pep:

Plaza Olles 8

08003 Barcelona, Spain

+34 933 107 961

Another Night, Another Bistro

It's easy to get the idea that delicious bistros in Paris are a dime a dozen. There are, however, several fallacies embedded in this argument:

1) France is on the Euro - there are no dimes.

2) Although most food in Paris is, in my opinion, better than the food in America, good bistros are harder to come by than one might believe. Hopefully my recommendations with help.

Tonight I picked a winner (not a nose-picking reference): Bistrot de l'Oulette. As many of my favorite and most frequented spots, l'Oulette is located in the 4th arrondissement not far from Place Des Vosges and Chez Janou (bistro crawl anyone?). The venue has a slightly different feel from Janou - this is a no-frills kind of place with plain wooden chairs, minimal décor, and a relaxed ambiance. The people who dine here aren't looking to see or be seen; they want a tasty, low-stress meal, which is exactly what I received.

Heed the myth that you can wine and dine all night in the typical Parisian bistro. As per my experiences, many of these places want you in and out as soon as possible, especially if you're American (which I've become increasingly talented at disguising). L'Oulette, however, was an exception. Although there was only one waiter present this evening, I felt no competition for his service. He was quite attentive -- I would even go so far as to say he was happy, which in Paris is almost unheard of for anyone working in the service industry. Seems somewhat counterintuitive, but hey, that's Socialism. Stay tuned for my blog on politics...

Back to food. My meal was excellent from start to finish. I didn't feel hurried, and I was greeted by my waiter with a smile. Everything on the menu looked incredible, so admittedly my decision was quite difficult to make. I made it, though, and here's what I chose:

To begin, a shellfish "bisque" containing mussels, clams, and one other unidentified item, although it didn't really matter what it was because the soup was incredible. Just the perfect amount of cream, not too thick or overwhelming. The dish is garnished with parsley and topped with what is probably the French equivalent of Old Bay Seasoning.

Next came one of the best entrées I've had in a very, very long time. Below is a picture of some of the most savory and tender duck breast I've ever eaten. It's roasted and topped with a port sauce with a side of potatoes au gratin -- for those of you non-foodies, that's with cheese and cream.

I was rather impressed with the first two courses of my meal, which I found perfectly complementary. The third component of my "menu" (appetizer, entrée, and dessert for 33 Euro) was not entirely mine; my good friend Dan and I split the chocolate soufflé with raspberry center and the flaky pastry filled with caramelized apples and a side of Armagnac grani. The soufflé melted wonderfully as Dan and I jousted with our forks to compete for the last piece. My only complaint was the lack of actual raspberry - there was a raspberry sauce, which went well with the chocolate, but not as well as real fruit would have. The apple pastry was excellent albeit quite flaky, but hey, I knew that beforehand. The Armagnac, which I had never tasted before this evening, was relatively strong and tasted very alcoholic. I found it a bit harsh paired with the apple, although it was in an ice-like form, which balanced out the warmth of the pastry. The pictures of the two desserts are below. If you can't tell which is the soufflé and which is the pastry, best that you stop reading now and pick up a copy of Life for Dummies.

I thoroughly enjoyed my meal at a leisurely pace. Dan and I were the last ones in the restaurant, but our waiter didn't seem to mind. I'm excited to return to this new spot of mine, though the restaurant merits much more calm than I'm prepared to give. Then again, it's hard to remain calm in one of the most food-centric cities on earth...

Until next time!

Dine at Bistrot de l'Oulette:

38, Rue des Tournelles

75004 Paris

+33 1 42 77 78 83

Foie de Vietnam

It's still early days at La Flavoriser but if there is one thing that has already been established, it is the creator's penchant for foie gras. Though not a favorite of this contributor, I feel it is only fitting to make my finest foie experience the subject of this first post.

I am fortunate as well to have experienced foie gras at some of France's most respected establishments. However, my best and most memorable experience with it took place a good 9,000km away from Paris-- in Hanoi, Vietnam. May sound a bit strange at first but remnants of French colonial influence in Vietnam are everpresent, especially with respect to architecture and, of course, food. The man responsible for my fête de foie was Bobby Chinn.

A sort of cult figure, Chinn has established himself as the gastro version of an international man of mystery. Half Chinese and half Egyptian, born in New Zealand and educated in the US and UK, his multinational background is visible in the cooking at his namesake restaurant. While he is all about keeping the menu and atmosphere playful and fun (as proven in the restaurant "rules" at the bottom of the menu), his food is far from a joke. I found this out very quickly from the Non-H5N1 Rice Paper Wrapped Foie Gras, Mango and Ginger Sauce.

The rice paper, completely surrounding the generous but thinly sliced foie, was like the wrapping paper over a mindblowing present, except, well, edible and delicious. The combination of textures between the crispy rice paper and delicate foie was both clever and extremely well-executed. The sauces created a sweet/savory mix that still did not interfere with the intensity of the centerpiece. Perfect.

I remember the rest of the meal and subsequent hookah (perhaps an homage to Chinn's Egyptian roots) being great, yet that dish was the one true standout. Vietnam is undoubtedly home to some of the world's best street food, so I was a bit skeptical to pay more than a buck or two for dinner. However, Restaurant Bobby Chinn was well worth the "splurge" and I would recommend it to anyone visiting Hanoi. Just another reminder that some of life's great pleasures arrive when and where they are least expected.

Restaurant Bobby Chinn
1 Ba Trieu Street, Hanoi, VIETNAM

Guest Stars

I've invited some of my greatest influences to contribute to my blog -- consider them "guest stars." They are extremely well-traveled and well-dined, and they will share with you some of their food experiences that will make your mouth water. I'll let them remain anonymous unless they choose to reveal themselves. Until then, happy reading!

Giving Thanks, Gaining Kilos

I'm going a bit out of order, but I'd like to share with you one of my most memorable meals to date. As many of you know, I'm living in Paris until December, and my parents decided to spend our Thanksgiving here instead of in the Northwest suburbs of Philadelphia (as interesting as that may sound). My reservation-making skills had been put to the test -- could I find a restaurant special enough to replace our beautiful new dining room on one of my favorite holidays of the year? Yes, I could.

I decided upon Le Jules Verne, making the evening an official anti-Thanksgiving. Besides, what better way to give thanks than to flee the country for France and eat on top of the Eiffel Tower? At 21:00, I ascended up the dimly-lit private elevator, skipping the mobs of tourists waiting in the rain and cold below. At one hundred fifty-three meters, I was on top of the world. If I was thankful for anything that night, and it certainly wasn't the bill, it was for our table by the window -- even in the rain, I had never seen such a magnificent view of the city, overlooking the Seine and the right bank. And to top it all off, since I arrived on the hour, it meant that the light show was about to begin. I had a behind-the-scenes perspective.

I started the meal off extravagantly - warm cauliflower soup with bits of bacon and broccoli, herbs and spices, and a scallop topped with fresh cream and caviar (see top left). My jaw was steadily dropping as the meal progressed (although I had to raise it again in order to chew). Next came the entrée, a melt-in-your-mouth piece of filet mignon served saignant (get used to it) aside duck foie gras in a cognac and black truffle sauce. The triangular sculpture on top is a puffed potato chip, one of many served beside the steak. By now it has become quite clear that I fancy red meat (see above).

Just when I was beginning to think Alain Ducasse had outdone himself, our waiter brought out the pièce de la resistance - pistachio soufflé with confectioner's sugar. This dessert was ordered several hours in advance, but we couldn't possibly have anticipated what was coming. The picture I took is after several bites, because my hunger succeeded my desire for photography at that moment. I believe it's better this way, however, because you can see the inside of the soufflé and try to imagine how your taste buds would feel if it graced their presence (trust me, you can't). Finally, complements of the chef, we received parfaits of vanilla crème and thick chocolate mousse topped with cashews, vanilla macaroons, and dark chocolate with almonds (hidden behind the parfaits). Two light shows, five full stomachs, and several emptied bank accounts later, all I could say was, "DAMN."

Finally, it was time to take the elevator back down to earth. I reflected on my out-of-this-world meal (though probably not worth the price), and thanked my generous father for taking one for the team. As I exited the tower, I realized there was one more thing to be thankful for: it had stopped raining seconds before my new suede Prada boots hit the ground.

Dine at Le Jules Verne:

Tour Eiffel

75007 Paris, France

+33 1 45 55 61 44

Thankful for your Readership,

Amanda

Ce Soir...

Everyone who's spent a substantial amount of time in Paris has had the opportunity to survey the restaurant scene and choose his or her favorite bistro. Chez Janou is mine. It's the quintessential Parisian bistro on the corner of a hidden street near the Place des Vosges, and it's absolutely perfect. The menu is succinct but contains everything you'd ever crave. My almost-anorexic mother, vegetarian sister (we don't know where she came from), and carnivorous self all found something delicious to eat.

Now of course, this wasn't my first time dining at Chez Janou. I'd been recommended this restaurant by my trusty friend Zagat, as well as some friends who had lived in Paris during previous semesters. Tonight was probably my seventh time, to be approximate. I started with the ever-consistent tuna carpaccio with black olives and lemon garnish, followed by my go-to -- the entrecôte served saignant (between rare and medium-rare) with a side of a thinly-sliced potato "cake" au poivre. I didn't even mind not drinking red with my steak because the house white is so delicious.

I wish I had taken pictures, but if you've ever been to Chez Janou, you'd know that it's virtually impossible not to devour your food the minute it's served. Unfortunately, all I have is a lucid memory of this fabulous meal and a full stomach to accompany it. If and when you go to this bistro, arrive before 9:30 to sit outside -- the heat lamps will make up for the slight chill, the people-watching will keep you entertained, and the cuisine will be on point each and every time. And most importantly, if you're a foodie who dines out often, it won't break the bank. Three courses and wine for about 35 euro -- but I would pay double for this.

Dine at Chez Janou:

2 Rue Roger Verlomme

75003 Paris, France

+33 1 42 72 28 41

An Introduction

There are those who eat to live and others who live to eat. I have always considered myself the latter. I derive great pleasure from eating and an even greater one from sharing my favorite meals and recommendations with others. I'm certain that if you like food, you'll like what I have to say.

My name is Amanda and I've always had a passion for eating. Continually antagonized by my peers for spending hours taking notes on the Zagat guide, I have developed and refined my taste for food of all sorts -- I rarely discriminate. I sometimes wonder where this affinity has come from -- my mother rarely eats anything, and my father eats quite a bit of it-doesn't-matter-as-long-as-it-kills-the-craving. Though I would not consider myself picky according to anyone's standards, I do prefer some foods to others and am very confident about what I like. This will manifest shortly.

"Favoriser" means "to indulge" in French, so adding an "L" perfectly describes the direction I'm headed with this website. My goal is to convert all of those who are cuisine-indifferent into true foodies. And it doesn't hurt to make you salivate, either...