Walking from Chatelet to Les Halles I was struck by the sheer volume of truly great quirky little stores. One might expect that this, the centre of Paris would be bereft of odd little galleries and quirky little stores. One might discuss the merits of a 1930’s train set with a man who has spent his whole life considering such, or haggle over a clay tobacco pipe with a septuagenarian crone who lives for her store or, buy some vintage clothing by the kilo then rest up in a café not called Costa or Starbucks next to a cobblers, a fish mongers and a button store- all of whom occupy prime real estate. London it is not.
After this obligatory walk around Les Halles, it was time to Montmartre where the likes of Renoir, Monet, Lautrec Modigliani and Picasso once lived. Here one realises that the Cubists just basically painted what they saw – a cacophony of roofs in grey, brown and beige which is a tad disappointing. On the way I stopped off at the 120 year old Chartier on rue de Fauborg Montmartre - where the waiters in bow ties tot up ones bill on your table cloth and where a main of Confit de canard pommes grenailles is Euro 10. A true Parisian institution I first went as a poor student in 1980 and it’s never let me down.
Now a little squiffy we cabbed it up the hill to the magisterial Cathedral of Sacre Coeur. Always worth the journey from its heights one can look down on the whole city, from Montmartre to Montparnasse and from the Bois de Bologne to the Bois de Vincennes. Walking down from the cathedral we then passed through the square of Montmartre, which has been entirely engulfed by the tourist trade. It does contain such wonderful attractions as, chez la Mere Catherine – the oldest bistro in Paris that, established in 1793, began as an eatery for Russian Cossacks who had wandered into France after their war with Napoleon. A damn fine restaurant but, I find that I get a rather bad case of indigestion when eating in the vicinity of tourists who photograph their entire meal even the damn cutlery so, we nipped over to La Divette de Montmartre an odd little tourist bar with a table football and pinball machines and every last inch of wall covered with stickers, bar mats and old vinyl and a grumpy old grey haired owner called Serge. It was good to sit down but even so 2 hours later we hungry again so we moseyed on back to Mama Shelter East and settled down for a truly remarkable dinner that, comprising a landmark tuna ceviche to start, a black Angus steak with les pommes frites and sauce béarnaise and to finish a selection of ice cream and sorbets including lemon, mango and vanilla all aided by a bottle of Bordeaux – Goulée rouge by Cos d’Estournel 2013, was as good a supper as I have had in a few years.
But lest we forget, Paris, also fields some of the finest ethnic restaurants that this not so young scribe has ever encountered. Krung Thep in Belleville, serves Thai food that is the best in Europe and is worth a trip to Paris in itself. For Moroccan you will have a hard job topping, Le Souk in The Bastille - a luscious assault on the senses that will knock you into touch while for classic French Chez Paul also in the Bastille takes some beating.
Chez Paul