Food in Paris
Butter is better in Paris.
When my mom picked our hotel, she was adamant about including the daily breakfast buffet.
“I don’t want to hunt for coffee, I want it downstairs,” she rationalized.
Now, the breakfast buffet at our hotel was not the American Best Western dismal affair I remember from road trips growing up. Cappuccinos replaced empty communal coffee pots, eggs were served to order rather than sadly scrambled in a cold gray tin. But my favorite was the bread and butter. I would order “un cappuccino s’il vous plaît,” grab a freshly sliced baguette, salted butter, and sit in gluttony. There were pastries, fruit juices, meats and cheeses, yogurt with fruit toppings, all fresh.
My mom and I would joke about how much weight we would gain, but in all honestly we walked so much it was about the same as me replacing breakfast in New York with coffee and bingeing on lunch and dinner. We ate when we wanted to sit, which was perfect.
Both traveling to Paris in college and moving to New York after graduating grew my love for authentic French cuisine.
Bone marrow, duck confit, fois gras, escargot, steak tartare, wine, cheese…
I may not have had a long list of restaurants I wanted to go to, but I knew the foods I wanted to eat.
Here are a few of my favorite restaurants in Paris:
Look at what is just already on the counter!? Have you ever seen more butter in your life??
This place was recommended to me by my friend Ana, who sent me numerous restaurants, cafes, and bars to check out. She actually recommended the Avant Comptoir de la Mer which is right next door, but I was confused and went inside here instead. (Truth be told I fully sat at the hotel restaurant next door until I was given a menu and realized the name didn’t match and I had to unceremoniously leave the table.)
When I finally made it inside, there was a single stool available. The whole place is a long counter (comptoir) with only 6-10 stools placed across. There is a ledge on the opposite side for standing-room-only customers. The ceiling was lined with laminated menu items pictured, three or four tubs of butter were placed where the next customer sat or leaned up.
I’m not sure what I ordered, but it was the best food I have ever had. I think one salad had vinaigrette balls - I asked the server how in the world those were made and her guess was as good as mine.
I even came back to the restaurant a second time two weeks later, ordering all new dishes. I definitely had the fois gras the second time around. I talked to the two women next to me, they were sisters, one living in Paris the other in San Francisco. The SF sister was excited to tell me that she had been waiting to come back to this restaurant for three years, as she wasn’t able to visit until 2022. I’ll be going back the next time I go as well!
My favorite steak frites in the world - sirloin with secret sauce.
I first came here in 2014 with my college boyfriend, and have made it a point to come back each trip since. They don’t take reservations, and there’s always a line down the street. Once seated, you’re asked the only two important questions there are in life: what kind of wine would you like and how do you like your steak cooked?
(Now that I’m thinking about it, what a great first date spot. Imagine knowing someone pairs chardonnay with well-done steak. Immediate dealbreaker.)
I order my steak “à point” (medium rare). If you prefer it more rare, order it “saignant” (bloody).
There is no menu. You sit, are asked those two questions, and soon your wine and a walnut salad come to the table.
For the main course, your plate is piled high and swimming in their delicious secret sauce. I’m sure it’s not a secret, but I can’t cook so every flavor is a beautiful mystery to me. As soon as you finish your plate, your server will come around with a metal platter and scoop another round of steak and fries. Come hungry!
Two people I talked to about this restaurant after I went let me know that they had successfully hooked up with one of the waiters when they dined there. 👀
It was a beautiful sunny day, so I decided to walk from my cheap hostel in the 13th arr. through Jardin des Plants all the way to Chez Janou for lunch.
I came right before the lunch rush, and was seated next to a mother and her daughter, and an older Parisian couple on the far side of them.
I sat alone with my “Arsène Lupin, Gentleman Burglar” book.
I didn’t know the sizes of the entrees and plats so I definitely ordered too much. I started with the petit chèvre rôti au romarin and finished with the tartare d’avocat, écrevisses et pamplemousse. When I didn’t finish the tartare and ordered an espresso for dessert, the waiter scolded me for not finishing. I took it as a compliment that I looked skinny.
The conversation of the tables to my left made me laugh. The sophisticated Parisian couple ordered white wine and shared an entree. The gentleman asked where the woman and daughter were from, we all learned it was the daughter’s first time in Paris, and that they were from Virginia.
“Ah so that’s a red state,” he stated.
“Well it’s more of a purple state,” the mother said uncomfortably.
“Did you vote?”
“Well, no-”
“I did',” I jumped in. “But I’m in New York, a blue state.” I wanted to both embarrass the mother and save a bit of face on behalf of Americans for the Parisian gentleman.
When the couple got up to leave, the gentleman noticed my book on the table.
“Ahh Arséne Lupin! You’re reading this?”
“Yes!” I glowed. “I just bought this at a bookstore near my hotel.”
The woman had her revenge. “That’s a Netflix show, right?”
“Well, yes-”
“Did you only hear about Arséne Lupin through the show?” the gentleman asked with disappointment.
“Yes… but I really love the book.”
New York and Virginia were tied.
Not pictured: our waiter, the most beautiful man to ever grace this earth.
My mom and I stumbled across this place. To be fair, “crawled to” would probably be a better description.
That day we had walked from our hotel near Notre-Dame all the way up to Sacré-Cœur. We shopped in Montmartre and took selfies outside Moulin Rouge.
On our way back, I was excited to direct my mom through the subway system. Classic Paris during the summer, we made it one stop and the line we had to transfer to was on strike. We then walked to another train station and bought tickets for the same train line we took from the airport, but that was packed because the other line was down, so we walked right off the platform. Then of course the taxi line was too long, so we decided to just start walking back until we could find an open taxi. (Please ignore the fact that we could have called an Uber back to the hotel the entire time.)
Dragging ourselves back, we were tired and hungry. I checked my map for any restaurants I’d saved, and found one nearby that my friend Axelle recommended.
My mom and I lucked out by going to Derrière early (I think it was 4:30/5pm). We were seated outside, and were settling in when Adonis himself walked up to our table.
We ordered a bottle of white wine and the fois gras to start. My mom on her vegetarian kick ordered the petit farcis, and I asked my future husband what he recommended. Whatever he recommended I ordered, as I was overwhelmed by his godly presence. I thought he said duck, and when chicken came out I was confused. He came over, kneeling to apologize, and I was fully aware that I would eat pig shit out of a decaying pigeon if he handed it to me on a plate.
Overall the meal was wonderful. Ask for Angelo if you go.
We love a chain moment!
My friend Axelle also recommended this place to me, though I’ve been to their location in New York before as well. We went for brunch, though my mom and I ordered white wine for no good reason other than congratulating ourselves for walking so much and finding a nice place to sit.
I had the salmon toast and she had the avocado toast. We sat next to a young group of graduates out of college, most were French but one girl was Italian so they all spoke English throughout their meal. It made me feel better about only speaking English.
They have espresso martinis!
I saved this place on my maps because a girl in New York I met once and am obsessed with tagged it in one of her insta stories when she went to Paris a few weeks prior.
It was incredibly hot, and my mom and I were so happy to finally get into the shade. We ordered wine because we’re annoying, and a salmon plate. I didn’t know what would come out, but it was so fresh.
I convinced my mom to get espresso martinis after our meal to perk us up before continuing our walk. The interior was beautiful, and my talented mom grabbed her book after the meal for some quick sketches.
Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.
After dining at Avant Comptoir de la Mer by myself, I headed to The Little Red Door for a cocktail. I was warned there would be a line, especially on a Friday, but as I was alone I figured I had a good chance to sit at the bar. I only had to wait less than 10 minutes, as a couple in front of me gave up.
I had never heard of farm-to-bar before, but I think the concept would work really well in New York and LA if there aren’t bars like that already. You’re given a small hardcover book with pictures of the farmers, ingredients, and specialty cocktails for each ingredient. I don’t remember which ingredient I ordered, but it was fun!
After two drinks I headed to Le Syndicat, looked at the crowd inside, and ordered an Uber home.
I convinced a lactose intolerant man to help me finish this plate.
I love the exhilarating anxiety of walking up to a small restaurant alone. The waiter was standing outside smoking with a few regulars, the lighting inside was bright, and the space was empty save one couple. I felt overdressed in my red lipstick.
I asked to sit at the bar with a smile that apologized for not speaking French, the waiter came back inside with another friend. I ordered the cheese plate and asked him for whatever red wine he thought would pair well. After a while, I realized nobody was speaking French - it was an Italian spot with the wine and language to match.
The cheese plate was huge - I confirmed it was the one that was only 10 euros. In New York, one half the size would have been $25 easily. More locals trickled in, a suave classically French guy and his friend started talking to me with an air of indifference, translating anything they said in French to the other guy at the bar. His friend gave me his number and let me know that they would be at a bar a few blocks away if I wanted to join. Another guy came in soon after, friends with the bartender and waiting on another friend for his birthday. He was a software developer living in the suburbs, and invited me to a jazz club after, but I hate jazz so I declined.
I walked to meet the guys at the bar nearby, they had a few girlfriends who were extremely nice to talk to. Moulin Rouge was lit up at the end of the block… I felt like I was in a movie. Next we went to Le Chat Noir for a drink, because pretty boy who was dating one of the girls knew a guy there who would give us a free round. I sat across from Emile, a smart young woman finishing law school. We discussed the abortion ban in America, gay marriage in Paris, her time spent living in forward-thinking Amsterdam. I tell you, the French really love talking about politics.
After Le Chat Noir we ended up going to a club, even though I self-conscious wearing my Longchamp backpack and not a real purse. The ceiling had mirrors on it, and I was not drunk enough to be there. I ordered a round of tequila shots for me and the two other girls and here’s how the conversation went:
“Oh my god twenty euros??”
“Oh yes we can pay you back-”
“No no - I mean it was ONLY twenty euros for three shots?”
We stayed out until 4am. I Ubered back to my hostel, fell asleep in my dress and lipstick, and woke up to go straight to the airport to fly to Ibiza.
