Paris Journal 2014 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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The Annual Sanibel East Dinner Six of us, all Sanibelians, gathered around a table at the oldest restaurant in Paris last night. La Petite Chaise calls itself the oldest restaurant in Paris; however, at its beginning, its location was outside of Paris. The other contender for the “oldest restaurant” claim is Le Procope. The problem with Le Procope’s claim is that it has not been in continuous operation since its beginning, as La Petite Chaise has been. As far as I’m concerned, it is an argument that does not need to be settled. Both places are the oldest, depending on how you ask the question. The fact that La Petite Chaise was outside of the city’s borders when it began operations in 1680 is central to its history. At the time, the City of Paris extracted a big tax on wine sales. Guinguettes just outside the city limits were started, so that Parisians could travel a short distance, and then drink cheaply. Very soon, food was offered to go with that wine, because we all know what happens when people drink on empty stomachs! Just because such drinking establishments were outside the city walls did not mean they were unregulated. For example, a royal edict stated that these wine merchants had to have metal grills or bars over their windows. These cast iron bars still exist today over the front window by the entrance to La Petite Chaise. They are listed on the historic register. The name of the resto was a corruption of the old French word “cheze,” which meant “casa,” and was used to refer to an isolated house or hamlet. This structure was a building that stood alone on what became the rue de Grenelle, but was once called the chemin de Garnelle. True to its country origins, the cuisine at La Petite Chaise is simple. This is not a place to go for really fancy, colorful, creative presentation of the food (like LePario). Instead, what you get are high-quality ingredients, prepared simply and well as hearty fare. Our conversation did not center on the food, so I can’t tell you much about everyone else’s courses. But I will say that my starter, the classic six escargots served sizzling hot in a ceramic dish with six concave depressions, was absolutely correct. The melted garlic-and-herb butter could not have been better. The veal steak, a quasi de veau, was tender, juicy, and flavorful, and the homemade tagliatelle pasta and creamy sauce were fine (but copious; I only ate part of the pasta). My dessert was a crème brûlée that was also absolutely correct. Tom had the same starter, but then followed up with an excellent main course of lamb chops and a superb dark chocolate cake with crème Anglaise for dessert. One sign of a good restaurant is the relative permanence of the staff. Most of the faces we see among the staff at La Petite Chaise are very familiar to us, because they’ve been working there for years. Tom always asks one of the servers about his vacation, because once, years ago, that server amused us with tales of his trip to Dubrovnic. Last night our friend Jim got one of the other longtime servers to start really talking and joking around with us. And our dinner conversation was lively. Jim is an American who has worked in France for many years, so he speaks French with utter fluency. His wife, Jackie, is French and speaks English well, although she says that she and Jim just speak French at home. Home for them is Neuilly, a leafy and near suburb of Paris; in the wintertime, they go to their new home on Sanibel Island. John and Linda are like us; their only real home now is on Sanibel. But they like to visit Paris every year. Often they rent an apartment; this year, they’re in a hotel just a few blocks north of La Petite Chaise. Our post-dinner conversation went on for quite a while. Late in the evening, we saw John and Linda off in a taxi, and then we walked with Jim and Jackie as far as the rue Saint Peres, where they veered to the north, to cross the Seine. They planned to walk back part of the way, then take the metro on to Neuilly. As we crossed the Place Saint Sulpice, the church and fountain looked particularly lovely in their night lights, with the silvery almost-full moon as well. A movie was supposed to be filming on our little street and the immediate environs from about 4PM to 10PM, but we never saw the crew members or actors. They must have started late, after we’d left for dinner. When we were returning at about 11:15, the last two technicians were just leaving the scene with the last few pieces of equipment. So we managed to miss that inconvenience; I’d been thinking that it might delay our return to our building. We have no idea what movie was being made; we only noticed the apologetic announcements, in tiny print, posted on the walls of buildings around us. We know why the director chose that little corner of Paris: it is as charming as a fairy tale.
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Thursday, September 11, 2014
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