Le Petit Saint Benoît
Les escargots - gros or très gros?
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On the back wall of Le Petit Saint Benoît, the wall closest to the kitchen, is a set of drawers. They look like the sort that once held a library card catalog; dozens of old and wooden tiny drawers arranged in a grid. Spend a few minutes at Le Petit Saint Benoît and you’ll see what they contain soon enough: the napkins of the regulars. Now it is one of my heart’s greatest desires to have one of these napkins, and the aspiration is currently even more excrutiating since my dear friend Dave recently got a drawer + napkin of his own.
And he’s in good company. Open since 1901, Le Petit Saint Benoît is a Paris institution, once frequented by the likes of Jean-Paul Sartre, Serge Gainsbourg, Jacques Prévert and Marguerite Duras. It’s an authentic, top quality Paris bistro, with simple but marvelous French food and and a warm, relaxed atmosphere. I am terribly fond of the revolving door and the slightly tarnished antique mirrors on the walls, and the staff are great.
Everything on the menu is good, and whenever I have visitors from back home in Australia I make them try the escargots – you can have them gros or très gros. The boeuf bourguignon and cassolette de poisson are served in round individual cocottes and ideal for a cold day, and the hachis parmentier (like shepherd’s pie – Jack and I recently discovered that Monsieur Parmentier was the man responsible for introducing the “culture of the potato” to France!) is perfect comfort food. The confit de canard (duck) is also delicious, and for the very brave I really recommend the tartare, it’s maybe my favourite thing on the menu. Vegetarians don’t have a huge range of choice but if you let one of the friendly waitresses know, they can have the kitchen make something up especially for you.
The wine list is solid – you can have carafes or bottles – and the desserts are not bad either (I like the fondant and the crème caramel). Be sure to read the daily specials on the blackboard because there are occasionally some gems in there – I once had the best souris d’agneau (lamb shanks – but literally mouse of lamb!) I’ve ever had in my life here. Only thing I’m not a huge fan of is the coffee, they have more turkish style coffee served in an ornate mug and not the little espresso shots of pure caffeine power that I prefer.
I’m still working on getting my napkin – maybe I need to show them this glowing review! In the meantime I will just have to cope with seeing Dave gloat (and probably wipe his face constantly) but it’s Le Petit Saint Benoît, I just can’t seem to stay away.
Open Monday to Saturday 12h to 14h30 and 19h to 22h30.
Le Petit Saint Benoît
4 rue St Benoît75006 Paris
01 42 60 27 92
Métro: Saint-Germain-des-Prés
Map!
Image Ken Schwarz
Rose Bakery
Julian drawing on the table at Rose Bakery
One of Julian’s favourite places to eat in Paris is Rose Bakery on rue des Martyrs in the 9th arrondissement. Firstly it is amazing that he even has a favourite place to eat at all because I have been blessed with one of the fussiest eaters known to mankind, but also luckily it is one of my favourite places in Paris too.
Opened in 2002 by Rose Carrarini from the UK and her French husband Jean-Charles, they have many lovely English style baked goods like fruit cake, scones, lovely dense carrot cake and (hurray!) a flourless orange cake. You’d think that in Paris, the spiritual home of the patisserie, these items wouldn’t be in high demand, but Rose Bakery is immensely popular and always full, very often with a queue out the door. Julian is a big fan of the brownies and little pizzas. I like their wonderful selection of salads, especially the lentil salad and carrot salad, and the strong British cheeses like stilton and cheddar.
Rose Bakery is only open for lunch which means going there with Julian on weekdays is impossible, but they do a great brunch on the weekend. They are also decidedly very kid friendly and Julian and I always have a great time drawing on the tablecloth (it’s paper). Rose Carrarini has also produced a wonderful cookbook called Breakfast, Lunch and Tea: The Many Meals of Rose Bakery which I own and love.
A new branch of Rose Bakery has recently opened up in the Marais which is a tiny bit closer to where we live, so we will have to go there soon.
Rose Bakery
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46 rue des Martyrs 75009 Paris 01 42 82 12 80 Map! |
30 rue Debelleyme 75003 Paris 01 49 96 54 01 Map! |
À la carte
À la carte
Where I live in Paris there is a plethora of tourists. Actually perhaps that could be said for most areas in Paris, but on my local commercial strip I seem to hear more foreign languages than French. The tourists are steadily dipping in and out of cafes, asking for directions, pulling out the Metro map and looking confused, significant others wearing silly matching raincoats (and caps embroidered with their country of origin) walking hand in hand and looking very much in love. A few Parisians aren’t keen on them, but I love the tourists. I have been one myself after all. Plus I’ve been here for almost a year now and I still need to pull out my Metro map and look confused. But I have learnt to have a discreet one tucked away in my Paris Moleskine. I love the tourists so much that I have been known to walk up to them and ask ‘Bonjour! Do you need help?’. The Mairie should pay me for assisting lost souls on their pilgrimage towards Galeries Lafayette.
But my favourite thing about Paris tourism is without a doubt the English translations on menus. Yes, I am one of those silly creatures who derive joy from grammatical errors and spelling mistakes. I am by no means whatsoever a grammar snob who gets annoyed by mistakes (because I certainly make them in French all the time), I just find misspelled words and literal translations charming and delightful. Especially when they sound as appetising as “raped cheese”1. Goodness, does it need counseling? Or maybe you’d prefer “Hamburger with egg of horse”?2
Also the whole thing about Parisian waiters and waitresses being rude is a myth. If you happen to stumble across a rude one he’s just as likely to be rude to the locals as he is to the tourists. Most of them are lovely and extremely keen to show off their English abilities. One sort of French I have reached total fluency in is cafe and restaurant French, but if the staff overhear me speaking English with my dining companion, they jump at a chance to tell us the Plat du jour in my mother tongue. Often in the culinary realm though, it just doesn’t translate very well.
Waiter: So ze special of ze day is grilled stingray with concussed tomato, it is very good.
Antonia: Sounds delicious. We’ll take two.
Friend of Antonia: Am I going to die?
Waiter: And something to drink?
Antonia: Two glasses of red wine and some water.
Waiter: Would you prefer water suffering from gas or not suffering from gas?
Antonia: Oh, definitely with the gas. Merci.
Friend of Antonia: Why are you feeding me poisonous maritime creatures and fart water?
My favourite badly translated menu item has to be this:
Apparently this is how steak tartare translates into English at a cafe nearby, but I doubt very much many Anglophones order their beef codly chopped has to the order of the machine cooled. Maybe just the brave ones.
1. fromage râpé is grated cheese
2. Hamburger avec Oeufs a Cheval is really a meat patty with a fried egg on top of it, riding horseback if you will. That’s right, French horses don’t lay eggs either.
Antonia Hayes is an Australian writer, photographer and mother of one who woke up one morning somewhere in between The Eiffel Tower and Invalides unsure how she ended up there but decided to stay anyway. Originally from Sydney, she has been living in Paris since 2006 but still can't remember which one is the Left Bank and which is the Right Bank. Antonia is currently working on her first novel and is pretty sure she lives on the Left Bank.