UH OH!, FIRST BAD REVIEW FROM PARIS

My friend from French class, Rana, highly recommended an Italian restaurant right in my neighborhood, le Cherche Midi.  Thinking that a good way to start my Saturday trek would be a delicious Italian lunch, I took the short walk to this small restaurant.  It was bustling, completely packed.  Deciding to take my chances for a table anyway, I took the only one left (there was a good reason that it was vacant).  It was outside (no problem) right by the door (not my best idea). Check it out.  It's the one to the left of the guy with the motorcycle helmut standing at the door.   Let me get right to it.  The service was TERRIBLE.  It took at least 15 minutes to get a menu, and it went down hill from there.  Apparently, this is quite the hot spot.  As I sat there waiting, Parisians stood outside, also waiting.  They were waiting for tables, all the while smoking and blowing the smoke in my direction.  Don't get me wrong, that's not the restaurant's fault, but talk about adding salt to the wound.  A waiter dumped several plates RIGHT BEHIND ME, and scared the heck out of me.  No one said, "sorry", "pardon me" or anything remotely resembling any of that.  A nice man next to me (blue sport coat) made a joke at their expense.  I think that he felt sorry for me.  I ordered Veal Milanese.  The salad seemed fresh enough, but the veal was clearly re-heated.  The house wine was good, but quite frankly, I was appreciative of whatever would take the sting out of this experience.  I almost forgot this.  As I was waiting for my check (there was a lot of waiting during this lunch), the waiter spilled an entire cup of coffee on the nice man with the blue sport coat.  After the waiter cleaned up their table, and the man's wife wiped off his jacket, the waiter put all their dirty glasses on my table.  Le Cherche Midi will not be affected by my bad review, but for me, it's the principle of the thing.  Having worked in the restaurant biz, it's my opnion that restaurants fail more often because of service than cuisine.  The service there was so very BAD.  Needless to say, I won't darken their door again.  If I'm dying for Italian food, my friend Marla B gave me a recommendation.  She's Italian.  I should have listened to her from the beginning.

After lunch, I needed retail therapy.  Really, that is a category of therapy, and for those of you who don't believe it, give it a try.  I headed to Petrusse, one of my favorite shops in Paris.  Located on rue Raspail, Petrusse sells the most beautiful scarves and shawls of silk, wool, and cashmere.  I had a wonderful time talking with a lovely woman who works there named Zahia.  She was more than happy to put up with my pathetic French and help me with vocabulary and pronunciation.  Like so many French people that I've met, she was incredibly curious about Texas.  I promised to come back and see her when I'm next in Paris, and to bring her a bottle of her favorite fragrance, an American brand.  That cracks me up.  We're all about Channel and other French perfumes in the U.S.  She told me that American perfume is so expensive in France.  It's about time that something is cheaper in the U.S. 

On my way back to the apartment, I broke my rule.  I went to Le Grande Epicerie Paris.  (It's a Saturday!)  I was on the phone, and got knocked around by a few people.  Since I was carrying a couple of bags, I broke a few of bottles in the store.  Oh well.  I've spent so darned much money there that my conscience is clear.  As I walked past the seafood counter, I noticed the scallops.  I don't think that I've ever really seen scallops in a fish market, still in the shell.  As I stood there, I couldn't help thinking that this was the most gorgeous collection of seafood that I'd ever seen.

Most likely I'll venture out this evening for coffee or a glass of wine to catch up on my people watching.  For now, I'm holed up in my little apartment hoping that the rain stops.