Nobody in his right digestion would deny that a firsthand study of Paris restaurants is a toothsome assignment, and it may seem ungracious for me to point out, in the very first sentence, that limitations loom large and forbidding in such a pleasant task. A mere individual, regardless of his previous knowledge, heroic intentions, and cast iron stomach, is powerless to confront the wealth of worthwhile dining places in la Ville Lunière as she glitters today, on her 2000th birthday. It would have been easy six years ago. In fact, as I now recall it, an appraisal of the restaurants would have been no work at all. There simply were no good restaurants in those lean days, unless you knew your black market. Today, it is safe to say that no basic ingredient is lacking to rival the French cuisine of old. Naturally enough, a new crop of fine places has sprung up since the war. Some old-timers have passed by the wayside in the past quarter century, but others maintain their splendor. Such noble names as Foyot, Voisin, Paillard, Montagné, and Marguery have disappeared, but others just as famous—Maxim's, Lapé, Vousc, Tour d'Argent, Larue, Café de Paris, and La Crémaillère—still glisten before the gourmet's eyes.
To record the change, assess the cooking, and classify the commendable places in Paris is the work, not of a peripatetic visitor but of a full-time platoon of native experts. Luckily for all of us, such a group of sensitive tasters and sniffers does exist—in the staff of the admirable Michelin publications. So, as a point of departure for a thoroughgoing study, it is wise to consult the only impartial publication which lists and classifies all the good Paris establishments today. This is Michclin' little red-covered pamphlet, written in English, and called Paris Hotels and Restaurants. If you can't find it in the bookstores, the Guide Micbelhi for automobilists contains essentially the same information. The editors have perfected an ingenious set of hieroglyphics which enables you to tell at a glance whether a hotel is sumptuous or simple, whether it is blessed with Such adjuncts as private baths, telephones, radiators, and that ultimate token of European comfort, a bidet with running water. They also bestow a plump star on restaurants whose cooking is excellent, a double star On the extraordinary ones, and an ethereal triple constellation on the utterly sublime ones. They are all in this booklet—the palace where you can entertain a duchess, down to the bistro where you can rub shoulders with the taxi-drivers and coal-heavers. It is the one complete, impartial, abbreviated guide to this absorbing subject, although the prices are a little optimistic for 1951. There is another charming treatise on the subject, Where to Dine in Lordon and Paris, published by the Ram' Head Press in London. It is a little more detailed!, containing streel maps and capsuled information in a double-page-width diagram. The late Julian Street also did a delightful book on this theme a couple of decades ago, but today it only emphasizes the high rate of mortality among Paris restaurants.
Having knocked journalistic practice into a cocked hat and recommended rival publications, may I point out that it is still rather confusing to be confronted with such a long list. The whole picture can only be sketched in abbreviated form. A briefer, more explicit list, with a few first-hand notes, might afford a better perspective. The Left Hank of the Seine is a good place for the experiment. In area it covers about a third of Paris. In the gastronomic domain it contains perhaps a quarter of the good restaurants, but some of the rarest. It' not too big to handle. Having raveled my sleeve on the café table mulling this matter over, I have decided that if I were to lender suggestions to a civilized friend, endowed with aesthetic sensibilities, educated taste buds, and a normal joie de vivre (and that, without any apple-polishing, is my idea of a GOURMET reader), I would submit about fifteen well considered names from the Left Bank. These restaurants would range from the palatial to the humble, from the dignified to the uproarious, but two factors would be absolutely constant: excellent cooking and individual atmosphere. Such a list has its dangers. Paris bonlcvardiers, if they are still called that, may well raise a quizzical eyebrow at some of the names. Others will rail at the omissions. (There are some glaring ones, and many are deliberate, due to a variety of reasons-neglectful service, an irascible patron, unpardonable pomposity, outrageous prices, or mere nouvean riche chichi.) Regardless of the perils involved, we will risk an honest little directory aimed at the visitor with epicurean leanings. It. should provide at least a cross section of the best and the most amusing places to be found south of the Seine in the summer of 1951. First, however, a few observations for those who have not been in Paris for some years.
In spite of the new informality which affected postwar France, there arc curious contradictions, among them the increasingly late dining hours all over the country, particularly in Paris. The conventional noontime luncheon hour has been pushed way back, and the dinner hour seems to be re-treating gradually toward the Spanish ten o'clock habit. At all events, eight-thirty or later is the hour for your table reservation, if you are to avoid that empty first-diner-in-the-place feeling. The wait may seem long, especially if your ravenous offspring is in the party, but with those enticing cafés to stimulate the preprandial patter, the clock moves taster. It is always wise to make reservations by telephone at the more formal restaurants. That hotel concièrge with those gold buttons is the perfect intermediary. Pot luck is safe enough at the smaller places.
A fundamental fact to face is this: Paris restaurants, except the obscure and primitive ones, are expensive. The cost of food, from bread to bifteks, is high, and rising, Unless you are Very adept at ferreting out worthy bistros, the addition in a Paris restaurant, even a modest one, will strike you as dear. With New York prices fresh in mind, they seem normal enough, but to many other Americans (Texans excepted, 1 suppose) the cost will seem a bit steep. This is largely due to the fact that the French expect you to order a balanced meal with wine, either at noon or in the evening. It is awkward to do anything else—to order a mere omelette, for example—and it is impossible to order our classic sandwich and coffee. You arc supposed to go to lunch bars for snacks. Luckily for distressed Americans, unused to two complete meals a day, good coffee shops arc spotted all over Paris.
Well then, here is our Left Bank list, dated May 30, 1951. There is a little of everything here, in setting, price, relative refinement. But this is a gastronome' list. Fine food is the first consideration. In Order of approximate decreasing splendor, voici!
La Tour D'argent
15 quai de la Tournelle (5e) Odeon 23-31
At the very outset one must recognize this fashionable, very expensive, somewhat snobbish restaurant, which for decades has been accepted as one of the greatest in Europe. It enjoys the best word-of-mouth publicity in Paris, and is usually crowded with cosmopolites. Almost everybody goes there at least once (and orders that inevitable pressed duck), whether he can afford it or not. The device of numbering a caneton and presenting a card with this number to the lucky consumer is partly responsible, puerile as it seems In recent years the establishment has taken advantage of its unique site along the river, facing Notre-Dame. by installing glassed-in dining salons on the top floors. The cathedral, silhouetted against a Paris sunset, is no banal attraction. The cuisine of La Tour d'Argent is almost as sublime. It receives ichelin' triple-starred blessing, and deserves it. Its wine cellar is every bit as extraordinary. The French have a word for it—rarissi me!
The old building has been so restored that the antiquity of the Silver Tower is not too apparent, yet the original “Hostellerie” was supposedly founded here in 1562. When that epicurean stronghold on the boulevards, the Café Anglais, closed its doors near the turn of the century, its fabulous wine cellar was sold to the Tour d'Argent, and marked the buyer for lasting fame. Its white-whiskered proprietor, Frederic Dehair (who greatly resembled Ibsen, they say), brought added distinction to the restaurant by creating his caneton Frédéric (pressed duck with all the theatrics), and by naming dishes for some of his more celebrated clients—Loie Fuller, Clarence Mackay. Grand Duke Vladimir, et cetera. Frédéric' tradition is now carried on by a very capable successor. Monsieur Terrail. To visit this sanctuary is a privilege, especially if you can pick a summer evening with a sunset. Upholster your wallet with some of the larger-sized colored engravings issued by the French mint, and an unforgettable evening lies ahead. Closed Monday.
Lapèrouse
51 quai des Grands-Augustins (6e) Danto 68-04
This looks like a true aristocrat among restaurants, and it is. The ancient facade, its low windows protected by exquisite old ironwork, evokes at once the graceful epoch of the Louis'. This atmosphere is only enhanced as you step into a low entry way, whose white marble counter has obviously been there for centuries. A whole nest of dining salons is scattered about the two floors of the Restaurant Lapérouse, some of them really miniature in size. The ceilings are so low that all-American basketball teams arc hereby warned to go somewhere else. From the front windows there is a most beguiling view of the quais. the bookstalls, and the time-softened houses on the Ile-de-la-Cité, just across the Seine. Lapérouse is an understandable favorite with lawyers and judges from the Palais de Justice near by, and its clientele is invariably distinguished. When Princess Margaret Rose unexpectedly asked to dine in a Paris restaurant one evening a year or two ago, the British ambassador took her party to Lapérouse. where the smiling Monsieur Topolinsky met them at the door with a fastidious menu. (Rival restaurateurs haven't forgotten it yet. When Princess Elizabeth had her turn, the Tour d'Argcnt was the winner.)
Here you have the traditional grande cuisine (and it is exquisite) but with frequent proofs of creative genius among the chefs. The menu is imaginative, and the prices are less than in many Paris restaurants, despite its exalted triple-starred rating. The portly maître d'hôtel is a fatherly type whose advice is worth seeking, and the wine list is very impressive. The sommclier, strangely enough, did not bring our Châteauneuf-du-Pâpe 1937 to room temperature, contending that this made the wine too heady. 1 couldn't disagree more.
Magdeleine
61 quai de la Tournelle (5e) Odeon 02-11
The Paris river bank is a study in contrasts. As you stroll along the quais below Notre-Dame, you pass a squalid café recking with noisy Algerians. Near it is an ill-lighted, pathetic little restaurant with a melancholy, solitary diner. But adjoining that is one of the top restaurants in Paris. a very mondain spot frequented by celebrities from the theater, the turf, and particularly the world of sport. The walls of the Restaurant Magdclcinc arc packed thick with framed photographs of cabbage-cared wrestlers and cinema stars. Rigoulct, “the strongest man in the world, ” has the habit of downing a succession of rare beefsteaks here before tackling his weight-lifting performance. The mastodonic patron himself, Monsieur Gaston George, is an ex-wrestling champion.
But there is nothing catch-as-catch-can about the cooking! It is absolutely, and without qualification, delicious. The menu consists of a dozen or more succulent specialties, all cooked to order. The quenelles were as good as anything in Lyon, and the roq au tin was rich and flawless. We began with a sublimated vol-au-vent called the création du chef. and it simply defies description. The wine list was adequate, particularly among the 1947 Burgundies. Magdeleine herself takes your order (a little too hurriedly, we thought). But she' a busy woman. Reserve a table, get there by nine, order the specialties, and your evening here should be a reverberating success. Prices arc up a bit, but not exaggerated. Closed Monday and Tuesday, and all of August.
Auberge du Vert-Galant
42 quai des Orfèvres (les) Danton 83-68
On the Ile-de-la-Cité, almost facing Lapérouse, is another lair of epicurean jurists, the restaurant named for that gallant evergreen, Henri IV. Its location in the birthplace of Paris, facing the heavy hindquarters of the Palais de Justice, is a happy one. It is quiet here, far from the incessant honking. There is a broad outdoor terrace which is particularly pleasant on a summer night. The inspired dishes, supervised by Monsieur Bos, taste even better under the stars. The only time I have had difficulty concentrating on the culinary splendor of the Auberge was two years ago when our table adjoined that of Lily Pons, who was talking business with a brace of impresarios.
The cooking at the Vert-Galant is very good, the prices a bit high, and the service sufficiently adept. A smiling Senegambian in a scarlet costume brews your coffee and adds quite a touch of color. Among the novelties on the menu arc a delectable poule au pot Henri IV and a wonderful quiche Lorraine, as good as any in Paris. The carle des vins lists fresh, fragrant little wines from Quincy, Chavignol. and particularly Sancerre, which should enchant your palate.
Chez Châtaigner
75 rue du Cbercbe-Midi (6e) Littré 82-74
This turns out to be another study in contrasts. After the pomp and ceremony of several Paris restaurants, it is pleasant to come upon cooking every bit as good in a little place hiding in a quiet, unfrequented quarter of Paris. Chez Châaigner is very small and so inconspicuous that you are almost sure to miss it as you go by. The door is heavily curtained, as if to keep out the strollers. There are two small salons only, one above the other, thickly carpeted and hung with toile de Jouy. There is no menu, nor any carle des tins. The patron-chef, a confident and highly presentable young man in a white toque, recites the menu for you. He is from the lower Loire Valley and specializes in dishes from that region, particularly fish an beurre blane
The other evening he offered lobster, sole, and brochel in that glorious scented whipped butter, and it was incomparable. After that came a choice of a generously truffled poularde de Bresse, a classic lournedos, a veal chop à la erème, or a magnificent thick foie de veau meunière. If you like calf' liver, order it in a good place like this! Muscadet, the dry white wine of the lower Loire, is a prima donna in the Châtaigner wine cellar, but there are also some notable Burgundies and clarets and a good rosé for summer nights. If you are seeking a quiet, delectable dinner for four in an intimate, cheerful atmosphere, make a reservation Chez Châtaigner. Prices arc fair for the quality, too. Closed on Sunday and Monday.
La Bourgogne
6 avenue Bosquet (7e) Segur 97-59
Externally, this resembles a score of restaurants on quiet, tree-lined residential streets in Paris. But its sidewalk terrace is glass-enclosed, and there are other subtle signs that La Bourgognc is not a run-of-the-mill place. In short, though I shudder at the expression, it has class. The clientele is almost entirely French, and on the diplomatic level, if clothes are an indication. But they show their good taste in food, too, for the young proprietor-chef has set a very high culinary standard. His specialties are Burgundian, of course-coq au vin, pâlé de bécasse, friands au jambon, steak bourguignonne, but he has some deft Parisian dishes, too. There used to be truffles all over the place. You could have a salad of them or, better, have them roasted in the classic manner under hot coals. But now truffles cost 7, 000 francs a kilo in Périgord, and a halt has been called.
The wine cellar is naturally rich in Burgundies, both red and white. As an apéritif you will surely like a specialty of the house. It is a casse-grain, consisting of a large cool goblet of Montrachct pointed up with a little cassis from Dijon. Monsieur and Madame Monassier are charming hosts, and you are assured of a civilized evening among very nice people if you choose La Bourgogne. Closed Monday and from mid-August to mid-September.
Les Cigognes
187 rue Croix-Nivert (15e) Vaugirard 42-09
Would you like to have an excellent dinner in a little country town without leaving the city limits of Paris. Well, it's almost possible if you will drive or taxi out the rue de Sèvres, past the Bon Marché, on and on until you come to a little square surrounded by two-story buildings with rippling tile roofs. Paris has suddenly become a village -except for the noise. Bus No. 49 will also take you out there, but be sure to alight at No. 107 rue Croix-Nivert. Here is your little country hotel, with a cream-and-orange awning announcing its name: “Les Cigognes”-storks, that is. Inside you are confronted with the same unostentatious simplicity. Countrylike maids, dressed in severe black and white, assure the service, and very adroitly. The palromte is a confident lady with majestic carriage, but no Parisian airs. But paradoxically you are presented with a very sophisticated menu. Your fellow diner is no country bumpkin, cither. He looks more like a gros industriel. The key to this whole riddle, of course, is Monsieur Humbert, the chef. He is one of the most talented men in the profession, and vice-president of the Société des Cuisiniters de Peris. His cooking is what you might expect-practically celestial. I began with escatgots de Bourgogne, proceeded to délices de sole maison with an indescribable rich ochre sauce and accompanied by a seductive Chavignol. Then a rarefied frnits rafraîcbis, mostly immense May strawberries, flavored with kirsch, and a satanically black cup of coffee. It all left me mightily in debt (what am I saying?) to Monsieur Humbert. Well, it was a bit expensive, but eminently worth it.
Chez Françoise
Aérogare des Invalides (7e) Invalides 92-20
Many travelers who leave Paris by air are unaware of the fact that gastronomic adventure follows them almost to the taking-off point. If you are flying back and are hesitating whether to have a meal at the Paris Air Terminal, for eaven' sake do it. This is no buffet de la gate, and it is a far cry from what you will find on Sloane Street or Forty-second and Park. Chez Françoise is a topnotch Paris restaurant, geared to the frequently hurried traveler, but still adhering to lofty culinary principles. Sounds contradictory, I know, but Monsieur Turenne Rousseau, the proprietor, is a most unusual man, endowed with numerous culinary honors and much imagination. He is from the Champagne and, naturally enough, offers you a tempting choice of still and sparkling wines from his native province. You will also find a wonderful rendition of that Champenois classic, pieds de pore à la Saiute-Menehould, But maybe you don't like pig' feet. Well, there are plenty f Other good dishes, particularly among the plats du jour. For example, there is the feuilleté furassien, a fascinating hot cheese tart to serve as an horsd'oeuvre. A ready-to-devour ragout of some sort is sure to be on the menu, which bears a gay cover design by Guy Amoux.
The restaurant is down one flight in an unpromising spot, but it has been skillfully decorated. There is a sort of Winter Garden terrace, latticed with bamboo and glass-enclosed to keep cut the cacophony of the loud speakers. The panorama is rather banal-merely the landing platforms for busses taking passengers to Orly or Le Bourget. But your fellow passenger, bound for Cairo, London, Copenhagen, or Buenos Aires, provides plenty of atmosphere, and Monsieur Rousseau' gifted young cooks do the rest. Prices are very reasonable indeed.
Closorie des Lilas
171 boulevard de Montparnasse (6e) Dantou 70-50
“Where is a nice place to dine on a warm summer evening?” I've heard that question more than once, and one of the most successful answers has been this famous old café-restaurant at the eastern extremity of Moutparnassc. In summer it is as sylvan as the Bois de Boulogne, its broad terrace being framed in hedges and abundantly sheltered with chestnut trees. And (miracle to us Americans) there isn't a trace of a mosquito. There couldn't be a more charming setling for a quiet, inexpensive dinner for two or for a resounding round table of all the people you liked on the boat.
The place has a notable history, loo, dating back to the time when Baudelaire was a client and Georges Ingres brought his models here for a bit of refreshment. Later it became (he favorite domain of avant-garde poets and painters: Paul Fort, Francis Carco, Picasso, and Bracque. The place once resounded with squabbles among the aesthetes, but now it is very tranquil. The avant-garde has deserted it for Saint-Germain-des-Prés. The food, service, and wine at the Closcric des Lilas are perfectly good, if not extraordinary, and (he prices are entirely fair. There is no extra cliarge for that sylvan setting.
Le Vert Bocage
96 boulevard Latour-Mattbourg (7e) Invalides 48-64
This is a most restful Jittle place, tucked in a quiet residential corner of Paris. It is not far from Les Invalides, whose gilded dome shimmers through the trees. It has a certain style, too, a hedged-in terrace, a coquettish bar, and comfortable green plush scats lining the walls. In this cordial and civilized atmosphere a young chef, Monsieur Jean Bak, and his smiling little spouse offer you a handsome choice of dishes, poules de Bresse à la Vallée d'Auge, iniile à la gelée, and saumou de la Loire an benrre blanc among them. Monsieur Buk is proudest of his grenouilles à la provençale, so if you like frogs' legs, here is the place. The prices are reasonable, find the setting is so friendly and familial that you are tempted to return at once. Closed on Sunday.
Brasserie Lipp
151 boulevard Saint-Germain (6e) Littré 53-91
Candidly admitting a prejudice, I still contend that the best beer, the best tboucroute garnie, and the finest Brie cheese in Paris are found in this celebrated brasserie in the heart of the now overpopular Saint - Germain - des - Prés quarter. Nocturnal Bohemia may have migrated here from Montparnasse, but Lipp' remains unchanged and uninfluenced by the pseudo-Existentialists who arc a dime a dozen at the Café de Flore, across the street. Nor do the Beaux Arts students appear in force as they used to, which is a pity. The clientele of Lipp' has always embraced some of the most interesting personages in Paris, from Andre Gide to Picihia. Leon Blum to Herriot, Aldous Huxley to Hemingway. The literary character is due partly to the owner, Monsieur Cazes, who created a literary prize bearing his name. In the last quarter century. Monsieur Cazes' moustache has changed from a luxurious black handle-bar number to a closely cropped gray executive model. The lynx-eyed lady at the high desk overlooking the cash register has flowered into becoming rotundity. Otherwise nothing seems to have changed at all. The place is still garishly lighted still adorned with mirrors and flamboyant decorative tiles in the giddy manner of 1900.
The menu at Lipp' is largely Alsatian, and li nited to a few well-studied choices: classic hors-d'oeuvre (Alsatian foie gras, if you wish), an impeccable cboncroute, a pate en croiite with green salad, a few well-ripened cheeses, and luscious Alsatian fruit tarts. There are always a couple of plats du jour to vary the monotony. Besides the beer. Lipp' cellar contains tempting white wines from Alsace and Anjou and a seductive choice of fruit brandies: quctsch, kirseb, mirabelle, and framboise. The prices arc truly reasonable, about the best value on the Left Bank. Closed on Monday, and for three weeks in August.
Chez Joséphine
117 rue du Cherche-Midi (6e) Litiré 52-40
This is one for the reminiscent francophile, the sentimental diner who longs for the old-fashioned French restaurant of Ins youth, with none of these present-day affectations, Chez Joséphine is precisely the simple type of neighborhood restaurant which inspires portly exdoughboys to misty-eyed reverie. Monsieur Duranton, the black-mustached patron, wears a blue apron and shakes hands with you across the zinc bar as you come in. The menu is a good honest one with classis French dishes and husky wines en carafe.
Joséphine is out in the kitchen, and it is her skillful touch which has earned for this simple place a rung high on the gastronomic ladder. I can't remember having tasted better asparagus or boeuf bottrguignonne. They say that Josephine is at her best as a roaste: of fine birds. The patron and a little bespectacled maid handle all the service. Put a decimal point before the last two figures of your bill and you could be back in 1917-that' how little the externals of this little place have changed. It is probably the most “typical” establishment on this list. The neighborhood is a bit out of the way and not very interesting, but you will find Joséphie' cooking, atmosphere, and prices beyond reproach. Closed Sunday and during August.
Pré-Aux Clercs
30 rue Bonaparte (6e) Odeon 41-73
Good food is easy znough to find in costly places. The real accomplishment in Paris is to uncover truly inexpensive ones with comparable virtues. They do exist-by the dozens. Last summer we followed a little book by Odette Pan-ncticr called 101 Bons Pettis Restaurants de Paris, but with indifferent success. It' all a matter of patience, If you look long enough, one turn; up, and everyone seems to find a favorite after a lime. Here in the heart of the Latin Quarter is a restaurant which I've known since my student days, and winch may prove a favorite of yours.
The Préaux-Geres offers an excellent prix fixe meal for 350 francs, including cover charge, or almost exactly a dollar. Wine and service are extra. It is a copious meal, too. The bers-d'oetwre varies (a fast vanishing feature in Paris) are plentiful and diverse. There is a good choice of pièces de résistance, all generous and nourishing, plus cheese, fruit, or pastry, This restaurant was for gener-ations dear to students at the Ecole qes Beaux Arts near by, and you will sec-some of their paintings on the walls. It is familiar to countless Americans, particularly the architects, but the present management and prix fixe policy will come as news to many of them. The Pré-aux-Clercs has dignity and a very real charm. Try it, when your travelers' checks run low.
A la Grenouille
26 rue des Grands-Augustins Danton 10-55
The early part of this epicurean tour of the Left Bank included the dignified Lapcrousc, a patrician establishmc-nl touching on the rue des Grands-Augustins. The final recommendation is set on the same street, but what a contrast! The last terms you could apply to the Grrnouille arc patrician and dignified. It is an engaging madhouse. Everybody knows about the darned place, and I can't add much to your enlightenment except to tell you the beginnings of its owl-faced proprietor, Roger Spinhirny. For years he washed dishes in the basement of Maxim'. But finally his big day arrived. He was given a waiter' apron to serve at a dinner given by the King of the Belgians. The maitre d'hotel gave Roger the assignment of serving the soup, a magnificent bisque d'écrevisses. He passed his imposing tureen around the table and, to his surprise, found that none of the guests would have any. He returned to the kitchen crestfallen-but the maiter d' hotel was livid. “Ta cravate, Roger, la cravate!” he roared. Roger' hand darted to his celluloid collar. His mechanical black bow tie was gone! But it hadn't pone far. It had fallen squarely in the middle of the bisque d'éctcrevisses, a butterfly as forbidding as the black widow!
After such a beginning, Roger lost hope of becoming a conventional restaurateur, and luckily enough. Instead, he opened La Grcnouille, a narrow little place in a courtyard, consisting of a kitchen and three small rooms, dense with tables. Something in his perverse personality told Roger to be rude, instead of suave, to his customers. According to his mood, he cither kissed the ladies roundly as they arrived, or ignored them stonily. As they left, he either pinched, slapped, or, shall we say, cupped their derrières. He instructed his waiters to be familiar, not polite. The result was electric. All Paris flocked there at once. They'vc been flocking there ever since, waiting in the courtyard to be admitted and to be pushed around. I don't know why I've indicated (the telephone number. A request for 1 reservation would be greeted by bowls of derision. (Get there by 7:30, however, and the chances are line.) If your dignity is easily rumpled, don't go near the place. But if you enjoy a hilarious evening, have a look. Roger is tired of nipping and of making so much money, I gather. But the public won't let him stop. It finds his boite just alxiut the most amusing place on the Left Bank. It really has quite an atmosphere. The walls ate covered by very Latin prints, posters, and portraits including the more obscure obscenities from the Baldas Quatz' Arts. You arc crammed around small tables and told to read the menu on a distant slate (and given binoculars if you can't). The addition is oral, the service hectic. But the food is good enough, particularly the frogs' legs, and the prices arc reasonable. The cook wears a bandanna and is a close replica of Aunt Jemima, except that a strong French cigarette dangles perpetually from her lower lip.
It's a nut house. Everyone has a hilarious good time. I've only heard of two people who were bounced from the place. They were a couple of businessmen trying to talk—of all things—business.
We hope that this small list will provide you with some notable evenings. If you are still game, the Frog and his owlish owner Roger may well provide the most unforgettable evening of all!
Your eager but human reporter pauses for breath before he plunges into the gastronomic picture on the Right Bank of Paris …
Checklist for French Provinces Available
For those fortunate gourmets who are sailing or flying to France this summer, we have assembled a handy checklist of the restaurants and hotels recommended thus far by Samuel Chamberlain in “An Epicurean Tour of the French Provinces,” which began in GOURMET in March, 1949. We will be happy to send you his checklist at your request.