Today was an interesting sort of day. We rose exceptionally early to pursue a visit with Fred of Le Foodist, to a central Parisian market followed by a cooking class (I promise to discuss the market visit and class in an entirely separate posting). So what to do for dinner after 8 hours over a hot stove on Fete des Meres (Mothers’ Day) in Paris. After a great midday meal in a city notorious for restaurants which are (humanely) closed on Sunday and Monday, any sane eater would slink into his/her local boulangerie, grab a loaf of bread, drop by the local Monoprix or equivalent and procure a hunk of Comte, uncork a bottle of wine and hide out in one’s hotel room until the madness passes; but not so my intrepid human companions. Our concierge, Pauline, came through in the clutch. (Maybe it was a self-preservation instinct. Removing winestains and the smell of cheese from a hotel room could be a challenge, so, better to send the silly Americans off somewhere and preserve the room.) Reservations at La Petit Cour were procured.

One enters the restaurant by crossing a small footbridge and descending well-worn marble steps to an outdoor dining area. One traverses the small patio and enters a lovely dining room replete with comfortable seating, artistically designed glass tables and a completely professional staff. Between indoor and outdoor dining areas the capacity appears to be about one hundred diners, so while not tiny, it certainly isn’t a food factory. The menu is focused, offering a limited selection of combinations at reasonable prices, a Sunday dinner including both a glass of wine and a half bottle of water (with or without bubbles), a starter, a main and dessert at a very fair price. However, we chose to order a la carte and choose our own wine. I selected a Joseph Drouhin 2011 Cote de Beaune from the thoughtful, but very limited, winelist. It proved to be a sound, if unspectacular choice. Cote de Beaune burgundies seem to be tightly wound and need relatively long periods to open. Given my druthers, I’d decant such a wine about 40 minutes before pouring the first glass, but restaurant etiquette doesn’t always allow for such amenities, so the initial sips were funkier, almost corkie, than ideal, but as the wine breathed it blossomed into a silky, slightly tannic roundness. (Personal note: I prefer the more accessible, easier to drink 2008 and 2009 vintages in my cave, but one must deal with what is available when one is thirsty.)

Starters were exquisite – MiLady opted for a millefeuille of aubergine and crab. As suggested by the menu entry, three paper-thin slices of eggplant anchored a perfect crabmeat cocktail. The sweetness of the crab playing against the vinaigrette dressing and echoing against the sweet eggplant was delightful. Sweet, sharp, sweet is clearly a recipe for success. I chose the carpaccio of black angus beef. Paper-thin slices of beef with a cress, olive oil and caper dressing and tiny cubes of sweet butter was unlike anything I’d ever enjoyed before, but clearly a dish I’d be delighted to order again. Neither starter was heavy or overpowering, so our palates were

ready for the main course.

This is France. Despite the chilly weather, it’s Spring. Lamb is fresh and available in abundance all over Paris – so naturally that’s what we both ordered. The rack of lamb was generously portioned, flavorful and cooked exactly as ordered. Three ribs bedded on grilled green asparagus and artichoke hearts were heavenly. No potatoes, no attempts to distract from the lovely, juicy pink meat and crisped enveloping fat – and no apologies for the intensely carnivorous experience. French lamb is different, and vive la difference!

Desserts are always tricky. MiLady favors variety and a degree of lightness – give me chocolate; the denser, the sweeter, the better. Tonight we shared the “Dome a Chocolate” and were both satisfied. A hard dark chocolate shell covering a sweeter, but not quite milk chocolate, interior mousse, it was almost the perfect ending to the meal. Perfection was achieved with snifters of hors d’age calvados which smoothed away the chocolate sweetness and settled the mind. We scarcely noticed that while we were dining, it had begun to gently rain…

Our hotel concierge originally booked us at a place we didn’t enjoy enough when we ate there about four years ago to want to eat there again, so we asked her to re-book, elsewhere. Saturday night anywhere really good, anywhere in the known universe, is a tough table but One may legitimately ask, “Why not give a place a second chance after four years?” The answer was supplied by Malcolm Forbes when he was asked why his oenological choices were so expensive, “Life’s too short to drink bad wine.” Life is to short to willingly repeat an unpleasant experience. I refuse to write about bad meals because that only causes them to repeat, sometimes in my gut and sometimes in my limited cranial spaces – I simply go on (bravely) to the next repast. Pauline came through with flying colors.

Tonight we dined at Fontaine de Mars, a red and white checkered table cloth establishment in the 7^th Arrondissement, not far from the Ecole Militaire, the Eiffel Tower and the Champs des Mars from which the Fontaine must draw its name. A moment for history – Champs des Mars translates into English as the Fields of Mars (the Roman god of War). It was originally the field on which tournaments were held by the King so that French knights could demonstate their prowess in the arts of war. Unlike today’s sporting contests, the losers frequently went home in a box – making participation a definite hazard to one’s health. Now the only dangers at the Champs des Mars are extravagant prices and food poisoning. Rest assured gentle reader, neither is a threat at Fontaine de Mars.

We were ushered to a lovely corner table on the second floor of a typical looking bistro/cafe and into a different world. The winelist is split between “Les Vins de Bordeaux” and on a separate list, Others. The list of Bordeaux is concise and nicely arranged by appellation, cru and vintage. It is priced fairly but gives no quarter to bargain seekers. I lusted after a 2005 Pomerol from a good home, until the moment I realized the dollar price was into four digits to the left of the decimal. Instead the 2012 Telegramme, a Chateauneuf du Pape, from the list allowed us to both enjoy its robust (14.5% alcohol) flavors, dark fruits and a I think a touch of clove and earth, and its modest price. It was chosen to pair with the plat du jour, of which more momentarily.

MiLady began, as is her custom at this season in France, with the white asparagus. The portion was five huge stalks, steamed and presented with a mousseline which was very lightly tinted by red bell pepper and even more delicately flavored. I had the escargot – six plump little morsels very gently flavored with herbs and butter, but no garlic, served Swiss-style in a ceramic dish with a little spot for each snail and its liquor. I first saw snails served this way in Lucerne at Mövenpick almost half a century ago – it saves on kitchen prep time (someone has to stuff the little devils into the shells) and saves the eater embarrassment when s/he loses control of the clamp. (Remember the very funny scene in “Pretty Woman” when Julia Roberts inadvertently launches a snail missile at the stuffy waiter?)

We moved on, with both contentment and sadness to the plat du jour. Saturday night Fontaine de Mars features a sublime slice from a perfectly roasted loin of lamb. The slice is about 2 centimeters thick (roughly 3/4 of an inch), the circumference of a good apple, and weighs about 200 grams (between 5 and 6 ounces). It is so perfect that it is accompanied only by a single roasted clove of garlic and potatoes Dauphinoise. Balanced with the Chateauneuf it was an exquisitely simple and incredibly satisfying meal. Mind you, not so satisfying that we were able to resist ordering, and then devastating, a dark (the menu, in one of its extremely few translation mis-steps called it “black”) chocolate mousse. We finished with nicely prepared decaf cappucinos, paid our modest check and departed – happier for the dining experience.

Last night I probably bored you as I extolled the virtues of small. Tonight I’d like to reaffirm my position that small, in order to receive deserved accolades, must be better than big. Our dinner excursion took us to H Kitchen around the corner from our old favorite Chez Dumonet Restaurant Josephine and roughly a solid three wood and a long 7 iron from our hotel. (For you non-golfers that’s on the order of 550 yards as the crow or golf ball flies.) At 26 seats H is even smaller than last night’s venue, with a menu even more tightly focused and a wine list which exists only to enhance the dining experience.

We were greeted cordially and seated at what is arguably the best table in the house – if I can manage the technology I’ll send along a picture – nestled in a corner created by the service bar in the middle of this jewelbox restaurant. MiLady had a full view of the comings (but no goings) as a crowd of Japanese business men (fully a dozen of them) threatened to overwhelm the serenity of the place. The hostess/waitress (again tonight the staff seems to have been comprised of a single human in the front of the house, the chef, and a jack-of-all-trades apprentice hidden in the back) remained calm, unruffled and more than willing to make our dinner special.

We ordered the most expensive wine (68€) on the carte des vins – a 2012 Morey-Saint Denis from the negociant Joseph Frey & Fils because we have a similar wine in the cave at home and had recently read a review which suggested tasting them now, before mortgaging the grandchildren to lay in a sufficient quantity to warm one’s old age. The grandchildren need not worry, as lovely as this pinot noir is, they are infinitely more likely to mature well. It opens a touch thin, in the best Burgundy traditions, with a touch of funk that disappears almost instantly as the wine catches its breath. Not as round or as full-bottomed as the big Oregonian or Tasmanian pinots, the Frey is traditional with a touch of stone and an acidity that tickles the palate rather than swathing it in softness. A great accompaniment to simpler, lighter food preparations, but not a show-stopper like a really huge cabernet or an exuberant shiraz.

MiLady is a soft touch for any offering of white asparagus, whether as a tasting, a starter, an entree, or as and accompaniment to a main dish; she’ll order it. (Go back and read about her encounter with white asparagus at Lassere during our 2014 trip.) Tonight’s preparation was inspired – grilled stalks set on slices of smoked duck breast. No wasted sauce, no unnecessary distractions, only the subtle smokiness of the meat and the indescribably wonderful asparagus.

I enjoyed a one of a kind dish of artichoke stems and hearts poached in a broth of tiny white baby clams, white wine and borage. Exquisite!

The John Dory special was a gorgeous filet laid on a bed of steamed fresh market vegetables. Milady’s tastebuds confirmed the fish was fresh and a treat for her jaded palate, grilled to perfection and then encouraged to be its own best advocate. My “faux filet de boeuf Normande” was grilled to exactly sangiant and seasoned with nothing more exotic than simple salt and pepper. I expected a bavette, but this cut was thinner and longer – while not approaching the size or thinness of an American hanger steak (and far from what I think of as a skirt steak). It was tasty, and gave my jaw muscles a bit of exercise but rewarded me with a deep beefy flavor that makes a filet mignon seem pale by comparison. It was accompanied by tiny roasted potatoes that soaked up the natural juices and made me smile at the perfect simplicity of the dish.

We shared the chocolate dessert – best thought of as a “fire and ice” pairing. Hot chocolate sauce, a frozen chocolate cake log and softened chocolate ice cream. The underlying chocolate ran from an incredibly rich soup of sweetness to a lovely dark chocolate balance in the log, to a creamy, not pudding but not offering any resistance to the spoon, glace. It garners a *sigh* and two [slurps]. Being completely sated, we skipped the proffered coffee and tea, and requested the check. Surprise of surprises, the entire food portion was less than the wine – including, in best French tradition, both the GST and the service. Contented, we dawdled our way home to write up the experience while it was still fresh in our reptilian (not, I assure you, avian) brain. Another place to return to for an exquisite evening. Bravo!

After a year of visiting far-flung outposts of civilization we have finally returned to the home of civilized dining – Paris. We ate and drank extraordinarily well in our travels, but coming back to Paris is like returning to nowhere else. Tonight’s dinner was a reminder that great dinners come from great chefs, not from trendy menus or thirty page winelists or bigger-than-life settings – or any other manifestation of largeness.

Invictus is a small (less than 3 dozen seats) on a tiny street lying between Boulevard Raspail and Rue de Notre Dame des Champs. The host/chef/owner and a single waitress (with another young man in the kitchen) comprise the entire staff. We may have well been the only out-of-towners in the room, but our host’s English was more than a match for my French, and the bubbling conversations in French around the room, without the intrusive demands of a single badly mannered American gluten-free vegan was relaxing. (Well-mannered gluten-free vegans are always welcome anywhere, but most tiny restaurants in Paris don’t know what to do to make them happy, and feel that they have somehow failed in their duty as hosts, which makes them cranky. But more observations about the clash of those particular cultures another time.) The winelist is carefully curated and completely affordable. The entrees are limited, as are the main courses, to a manageable number of choices based on the availability of fresh ingredients. Everything arrived at the table fresh from the stove, well-plated but not extravagantly overdone, and thoroughly delicious.

The wine we chose this evening was a 2013 Chateau de Terte. I am of the belief that any Grand Vin de Bordeaux should taste good even before it fully matures, and this Fronsac did. It will probably be better in a few years, but it was delicious and complimented the food without calling undue attention to itself. It was also surprisingly light, only 12.5% alcohol but with a richness usually associated with “bigger” wines boasting 14% or even 14.5%; another example of delivering great enjoyment without displaying overwhelming size.

The entrees were exceptional. Milady chose a tortue of fresh “deboned” crab – a light dressing and thin slices of fresh green squash worked well with delicate flavor of the crab. “Deboned” meant shelled, as opposed to requiring the diner to remove the meat him/herself. The portion was not enough to make a meal in itself, but enough to whet one’s appetite for the main course. I chose the shrimp. Four perfectly roasted morsels finished with coriander and sesame seeds on a mixed vegetable slaw with just the right amount of vinegar to wake up the tastebuds.

One of the day’s specials was a poached haddock filet served over a bed of white asparagus. The fish unwrapped itself in lovely pure white flakes just the right size to melt in one’s mouth. (Of course I don’t eat fin fish, so I’m only relating what I was told, but it looked so good I was tempted to try a forkful.) My filet was a beautifully grilled piece of French beef – moist, with the firm texture that only the French seem to be able to create, and full of flavor. It was accompanied by sauteed onions and perfectly mashed potatoes. It was a modest portion, but delivered enormous enjoyment and left me room for the house-special dessert.

The special dessert is a drunken brioche slathered with a caramel sauce, covered with slices of slightly cooked apple and crowned with just enough homemade caramel ice cream. It was so good I forgot my chocolate craving for the entire time I was devouring it. The sharply robust espresso which followed was the perfect finishing touch to a great meal. But wait – there was one surprise remaining. The bill for our dinner was also an example of modesty. It cost less than our lunch at Georges atop the Centre de Pompidou earlier in the day. Perhaps my mother was right when she said great things come in small packages…