Le Picotin in Paris
Paris 10, 11, 12 Fevrier 2010
We realize we are in France already when we finally board our Air France flight at London’s Heathrow Airport and are greeted with a cheery “Bonsoir!” from the staff.
The flight to Paris is smooth, with clear air over London and Paris, but I am concerned about the landing. It seems ours is the first flight to depart for Paris out of Heathrow this afternoon, with two others hard on its heels. This was after bad weather and frosts prevented our earlier scheduled flight. I need not have worried. The plane lands very smoothly, taking what seems an inordinate amount of runway to do so. It is a very long taxi to the terminal. It’s new and spacious – no problems with immigration and no indication which baggage reclaim to head for. But we get there and retrieve our bags. We had planned to catch the train (RER) into the city, but as it’s snowing JD suggests a taxi. We find one, he quotes us 50 Euros. That’s far too much, says JD. We go back inside the terminal where we are accosted by a perfumed African. €85…75…there are no trains etc etc. This just makes us determined to catch the train. Several stadium lengths traversed and escalators later, we go to buy train tickets. There are major delays: there has been an accident on the line. By now it’s so late and we are so tired that we decide to taxi. We go to the official rank, and driver #3 says it won’t be more than €60. We’ll take it. The drive is fast and efficient. We have reached the Allegro. It seems terribly late, but we are welcomed and check into room 209. We ask about dinner, and are recommended Le Picotin at the end of the street.
Picotin is superb: small restaurant/bar with red gingham napkins. There are several groups there. We sit in bliss watching snowflakes falling outside. John and I settle for the special/prix fixe for the day: spinach soup with salmon garnish; escallop of turkey with sauce and rice (garnished with an aubergine slice), fondant du chocolat (rich chocolate cake with pouring cream), with lots of bread, and coffee (double espresso). Everything tastes wonderful – the rice accompaniment, gently mounded; the French bread; it’s a superb meal. The gentleman at the next table tucks into his cassoulet with serious dedication and obvious enjoyment. The people around us speak French. Everything seems so civilized, and so grown up and stylish, after the UK and its ubiquitous CCTV, PA systems, and irritating officialdom.
We make our way back to the hotel and obtain a password for the internet.
Next morning we tackle breakfast at 7 am. What a treat: beautiful coffee from a pot; breads and pastries; cereals and fruit and yoghurt; cheese, jam, butter and cold cuts and juice. What a feast.
However daylight reveals that our hotel is not in a great state, once we leave our room and look at the state of the hallway in the light of day.
Eventually we tackle getting out and about. We make our way to Picpus station, using a BNP Paribas ATM along the way. A very helpful lady shows us how to buy two-day tickets for the Metro. It all turns out to be quite easy, really. We catch the train to Place d’Italie, and then change lines to Palais Royal. And we are at the Louvre. It is vast, but we make our way inside and buy tickets and an audio guide.
We start with the Denon wing as recommended by our guide, but it is really confusing. Some of the Greek and Roma artifacts aren’t available today. I want to start with Greek – pre-Classical, but we can’t find it. The museum seems to be a random vast series of galleries, with classical famous and not-so-famous sculptures along the way. JD is going too fast for me, I want to read and translate every label.
We do see a lot of stuff. Then we start on the paintings. I would like to see the Rembrandts and Vermeers, but they don’t seem to be with French and Italian paintings. The standout as usual is Caravaggio. The museum has three of his paintings: the fortune teller (with beautiful boy); the death of Mary(?) and a portrait, the latter two presumably early works.
At some point we decide to have lunch. We find one of the cafes: (Le Molien) and eventually we are seated. We look out where it is still snowing, and feel safe and warm inside the musée. I have Quiche Lorraine and salad, and it is delicious. I can taste the mustard seasoning, and the nutmeg. It is totally authentic and tastes wonderful. Even the vinaigrette which accompanies the salad in its sachet is delicious. JD decides to go hard out on dessert, so it’s Tarte Tatin for me, with two dollops of whipped cream, and apple pie for him – great choice for me, not quite so great for him. Our double espresso (at least we get that right, and recognized) is wonderful and rounds off a delicious meal.
After lunch we wander around some more, stray into Sully and see lots of Greek vases. Eventually we head into Richelieu – we see the Smyrna excavation exhibition, then we try to find the Flemish paintings. We are being kicked out when finally we find them. Amazing, of course. Then it’s back and out again.
The Musée d’Orsay is open till 9:45 pm on Thursdays, so we decide to walk there. It’s cold and windy along the Seine, but we get there and get in. There are some lovely Van Goghs…then it’s dinner in the restaurant. Not such a good choice. The Carbonnade de Boeuf is served in its own casserole with potatoes, but it is really too salty, and the beef is rather tough and gristly. Oh well, the rest of today’s (and yesterday’s) food has been truly amazing, including lunch at Heathrow’s Terminal 4 Café Rouge.
We make our way back to the Hotel – no problems, and we turn in for the night.
Tomorrow: the Marmottan; Sacre Coeur in Montmartre, perhaps; and what else?
Friday 12 Feb
We made our way to the Marmottan Gallery, which had been recommended to us, and features some of Monet’s works. It is very cold – -2C, and there’s a queue for the museum. I would have to say that I find it a bit underwhelming, although it’s nice to go, of course. It seemed a little dark, too.
Afterwards we toy with visiting the Eiffel Tower, but there are huge crowds on the way and plenty of pickpockets,even on this very cold day. We couldn’t get near it.
Lunch at the café de Seine; a buffet meal; why is it that food in France is generally either wonderful or terrible? It’s so hard to find great food in this home of fine cuisine.
Then we went to Montmartre and the Sacre Coeur; we rode the funicular up the hill and walked down afterwards. Although this church is very famous, I wasn’t enamoured of it either.
Then we went to L’Ile de la Cité and Nȏtre Dame; the famous market has been cleaned up and is a shadow of the one we saw in the 70’s;
Nb the snow from yesterday still hasn’t melted everywhere!
Nȏtre Dame Cathedral is amazing, but unfortunately the towers are closed (too slippery), le trésor is very recent and very Roman Catholic, and like the Sacré Coeur every chapel is asking for money.
Sat 13 Feb resumed on route to Venice
Dinner at a bistro: we get back to Picpus and the Allegro, and head off to Le Picotin for dinner. Sadly, and in a very Gallic way, they don’t open for dinner until 19:30 pm. Even the bar isn’t open. We roam around the immediate area but it doesn’t seem right for dinner: there are bars, and snack bars, but nothing like the trattoria or bistro we are looking for. So we decide to head for Paris Bercy – then at least we’ll be where we need to be for the train departing at 20:33 hrs. Bercy is sadly a new, characterless station; the waiting room is full, and there are no food vendors. I check with the ticket office, but we don’t need to be there until 20:00 hours. So once again we head off to look for dinner. There’s a Japanese restaurant; and several “Cobb and Co” looking places, although not all of them are open. This area of the city, near the sports arena with grassed slopes, is ugly and unattractive. We settle for a bistro but it is on the Italian side and catering for foreigners. The menu is mostly pizza. Our waitress brings us very good bread, which we eat messily with the beautiful olive oil on our table. We ask for a “plat” and she looks at us strangely and brings une assiette. There is a party of Australian tourists there. It doesn’t feel very French.
Eventually we board the overnight train for Milan. It will go via Switzerland, and so we are asked to hand over our passports so the friendly guard doesn’t need to wake us. We were understandably reluctant to hand them over, but were assured they’d be returned in the morning. And sure enough, they are! We’re woken with a welcome cup of coffee, and our passports, ready for our next adventure.
That’s it for now. Ngā mihi nui.
Classic Barbarian 