I think having the oldest restaurant in Paris named after you is exceptionally cool – and very clever of you to arrange. But in the interests of humanity, I think word-by-word instructions on the Martini question are called for.
I am very, very rusty, and my French sucks, but asking for "Un gin martin, sec et très, très froid, avec juste un soupçon de vermouth, et deux olives" gets me pretty close.
But how is one supposed to eat those gray shrimps? Did you find out whether you consumed them correctly? Regardless, always appreciate that specific ortolan nod.
I am not 100% certain, but I think they can be eaten with the shell on or off. And many people who enjoy these critters like to behead them, which would have absolutely been the way to go dining in a restaurant once populated with revolutionaries.
My husband eats them whole while I whip their heads off and crunch. In the UK they can be eaten as potted shrimps encased in clarified butter and paprika- delicious
Having found myself in a similar situation due to seventh-grade French, I have tears running down my face after reading this totally relatable experience! You captured every angle brilliantly - thanks for the laugh and the memory.
Thank you, Lori, and thanks for re-stacking my post! I never feel more awkward that ordering my first meal in French. The feeling goes away after a couple of days (and several glasses of wine).
Sadly, my language acquisition and memory skills never really improve, even under immersion. Add alcohol, and I'm likely to spit out a mishmash of Arabic, German and French with a few Ausie-isms thrown in for good measure and pure awkwardness. I am the reason restaurants need photo menus.
This is a really funny story. Glad you didn’t choke to death in Paris that would really suck! Oh and thanks for teaching me how to order a Martini in France. Merci beaucoup!
I liked it a lot, it was very funny. And I was annoyed with the arrogant waiter pushing you to get the entree that you didn’t even desire…and your honesty in admitting to still wanting to be liked by this gross bully - shame I wasn’t there with you, I learned how to deal with them…
Thank you for this lively, funny and so truthful story!
Thank you for the lovely comment, Miriam! I really don't think he was a bully, simply a Frenchman who was probably exhausted from the heat and the tourists and in need of his own holiday which, being July, could not come soon enough.
I don’t agree, also you said he spoke English, perhaps he wasn’t a Frenchman, well that doesn’t matter, bullies are everywhere, but the way you described it is very powerful; this is the main point here isn’t, because we’ll never know, unless you go there again and check him again, and if he pushes again for the entree, you look straight onto his eyes and say calmly: no merci, juste un plat pour moi!
And he will sigh miserably, and say : bien sûr Monsieur, tout de suite. And you’ll be your own boss again.
Every time we go to visit friends in a Brittany, we have one meal of seafood fresh from the market. And there is always a bowl of either crevettes grises or bigorneaux. While I love bigorneaux, as fiddly and weird as they are to eat, crevettes grises still kind of gross me out. So hats off to you. Also, my goal is to dine at Le Procope with you. It really is.
I was confronted with "bigorneaux" in London several years ago, where they are known as winkles. I was at a complete loss as to how one went about eating them. I knew nothning about winkle pickers in those days.
And yes to Le Procope with you! Just as soon as I can afford to travel again.
I had no idea that was what winkles were! Huh! In France, they are served with pins. We do own a little set of - I don't even know what to call them - like large pins with colored balls on top to be able to hold them easily. You poke around in the shell to grab onto the thicker, solid bit of those teeny tiny snails and gently pull so as not to break them. Eat them one by one followed occasionally by a bite of buttered (salted, of course) bread.
The proper way to eat crevettes grises is to stage little puppet shows with them before popping them into your mouth. I prefer to reenact my favorite scenes from classic film.
Spectacular! You’re a jewel of a raconteur. That bittersweet, never-quite-the-same set of memories we carry; we Francophilic, but forever foreigner, lingers over every return to Paris.
What a great story! I too suffer from caring too much about waitstaff liking me but I think it’s because I don’t want them to spit on my meal before delivering it to the table 🤣
I think I mentioned that like Merlin in Once and Future King I’m living my life backwards. This means that I’m going to Paris in the autumn for the first time at 73. I meant to go when I was seventeen but that was before I realized the strangely satisfying curse that was upon me. Please just tell me one thing I must do. I’ll take a photograph and send it to you by mail.
I am very excited for you, Jan! I got to visit Paris this past October with one of my closest friends who had never been there before and it was a complete joy. One food-related thing you should do is buy a bag of roasted chestnuts. They're sold by street vendors when the weather turns chilly enough. Museum-wise, I love the Musée Carnavalet, but I would because I'm a history nerd. It's delightful, overlooked by tourists, and is the oldest museum in Paris.
Already on the list as also a history nerd. Always associate chestnuts with NYC so will definitely do this. Anyone you want me to visit in Pere Lachaise? So far must visit Colette, and probably Isadora Duncan, Sarah Bernhardt (I am a grad of the SB school of over acting), and Edith Piaf. Possibly some dudes, but you know. I’m as excited as I would have been at 17 when I meant to go. Only now I probably won’t get the clap or become a sordid artist model.
Oscar Wilde is now behind plexiglass, to protect him from lipstick, which is depressing. I stole dirt from Jim Morrison's grave when I was sixteen. Smuggled it through customs in my friend Amy's bra. I have since come to my senses.
Lovely! Your impromptu panache when confronted (with the waiter and the shrimp) is impressive. We dined there on your recommendation after Chinon, and the atmosphere and food did not disappoint.
Someday, I will write about how I adopted the hauteur of a wealthy, middle aged French woman when I encountered my boyfriend's side piece giggling in our dining room early one morning.
I think having the oldest restaurant in Paris named after you is exceptionally cool – and very clever of you to arrange. But in the interests of humanity, I think word-by-word instructions on the Martini question are called for.
I am very, very rusty, and my French sucks, but asking for "Un gin martin, sec et très, très froid, avec juste un soupçon de vermouth, et deux olives" gets me pretty close.
Yes.. Need this info as well v
But how is one supposed to eat those gray shrimps? Did you find out whether you consumed them correctly? Regardless, always appreciate that specific ortolan nod.
I am not 100% certain, but I think they can be eaten with the shell on or off. And many people who enjoy these critters like to behead them, which would have absolutely been the way to go dining in a restaurant once populated with revolutionaries.
My husband eats them whole while I whip their heads off and crunch. In the UK they can be eaten as potted shrimps encased in clarified butter and paprika- delicious
The UK way sounds so much better. I loved potted shrimp. We need to pot things more in the US!
Having found myself in a similar situation due to seventh-grade French, I have tears running down my face after reading this totally relatable experience! You captured every angle brilliantly - thanks for the laugh and the memory.
Thank you, Lori, and thanks for re-stacking my post! I never feel more awkward that ordering my first meal in French. The feeling goes away after a couple of days (and several glasses of wine).
Sadly, my language acquisition and memory skills never really improve, even under immersion. Add alcohol, and I'm likely to spit out a mishmash of Arabic, German and French with a few Ausie-isms thrown in for good measure and pure awkwardness. I am the reason restaurants need photo menus.
Aussie-isms should be embraced worldwide.
This is a really funny story. Glad you didn’t choke to death in Paris that would really suck! Oh and thanks for teaching me how to order a Martini in France. Merci beaucoup!
Thanks, Julie! The martini thing has worked the lat couple of times I’ve ordered one. I really must do a lot more field research.
And, should I ever choke to death in Paris, please bury me in Père Lachaise cemetery, if a spot opens up.
I liked it a lot, it was very funny. And I was annoyed with the arrogant waiter pushing you to get the entree that you didn’t even desire…and your honesty in admitting to still wanting to be liked by this gross bully - shame I wasn’t there with you, I learned how to deal with them…
Thank you for this lively, funny and so truthful story!
Thank you for the lovely comment, Miriam! I really don't think he was a bully, simply a Frenchman who was probably exhausted from the heat and the tourists and in need of his own holiday which, being July, could not come soon enough.
I don’t agree, also you said he spoke English, perhaps he wasn’t a Frenchman, well that doesn’t matter, bullies are everywhere, but the way you described it is very powerful; this is the main point here isn’t, because we’ll never know, unless you go there again and check him again, and if he pushes again for the entree, you look straight onto his eyes and say calmly: no merci, juste un plat pour moi!
And he will sigh miserably, and say : bien sûr Monsieur, tout de suite. And you’ll be your own boss again.
This is excellent advice.
Every time we go to visit friends in a Brittany, we have one meal of seafood fresh from the market. And there is always a bowl of either crevettes grises or bigorneaux. While I love bigorneaux, as fiddly and weird as they are to eat, crevettes grises still kind of gross me out. So hats off to you. Also, my goal is to dine at Le Procope with you. It really is.
I was confronted with "bigorneaux" in London several years ago, where they are known as winkles. I was at a complete loss as to how one went about eating them. I knew nothning about winkle pickers in those days.
And yes to Le Procope with you! Just as soon as I can afford to travel again.
I had no idea that was what winkles were! Huh! In France, they are served with pins. We do own a little set of - I don't even know what to call them - like large pins with colored balls on top to be able to hold them easily. You poke around in the shell to grab onto the thicker, solid bit of those teeny tiny snails and gently pull so as not to break them. Eat them one by one followed occasionally by a bite of buttered (salted, of course) bread.
Cheers to Le Procope!
The winkle picker was indeed pin-like. Even armed, I still came up winkle-free.
The proper way to eat crevettes grises is to stage little puppet shows with them before popping them into your mouth. I prefer to reenact my favorite scenes from classic film.
"Get out!"
"You're too short for that gesture."
Well done, sir!
I keep that line permanently locked and loaded, ready for use. Sadly, I am surrounded by tall people.
Well, besides, it went out with Mrs. Fisk.
Well done.
Spectacular! You’re a jewel of a raconteur. That bittersweet, never-quite-the-same set of memories we carry; we Francophilic, but forever foreigner, lingers over every return to Paris.
It absolutely does linger. Forever. And thank you for the lovely compliment.
What a great story! I too suffer from caring too much about waitstaff liking me but I think it’s because I don’t want them to spit on my meal before delivering it to the table 🤣
Thank you, Betty! I have the added problem of having been in fine dining service for many years, so my need for approval was extra craven.
Bravo, Michael! 🦐
Thank you, Jolene!
OK, so are you supposed to eat them whole? Did you ever find out?
Please see my reply to Shannon Rosa. I had just finished typing it when I say your comment!
I think I mentioned that like Merlin in Once and Future King I’m living my life backwards. This means that I’m going to Paris in the autumn for the first time at 73. I meant to go when I was seventeen but that was before I realized the strangely satisfying curse that was upon me. Please just tell me one thing I must do. I’ll take a photograph and send it to you by mail.
I am very excited for you, Jan! I got to visit Paris this past October with one of my closest friends who had never been there before and it was a complete joy. One food-related thing you should do is buy a bag of roasted chestnuts. They're sold by street vendors when the weather turns chilly enough. Museum-wise, I love the Musée Carnavalet, but I would because I'm a history nerd. It's delightful, overlooked by tourists, and is the oldest museum in Paris.
Already on the list as also a history nerd. Always associate chestnuts with NYC so will definitely do this. Anyone you want me to visit in Pere Lachaise? So far must visit Colette, and probably Isadora Duncan, Sarah Bernhardt (I am a grad of the SB school of over acting), and Edith Piaf. Possibly some dudes, but you know. I’m as excited as I would have been at 17 when I meant to go. Only now I probably won’t get the clap or become a sordid artist model.
Oscar Wilde is now behind plexiglass, to protect him from lipstick, which is depressing. I stole dirt from Jim Morrison's grave when I was sixteen. Smuggled it through customs in my friend Amy's bra. I have since come to my senses.
Lovely! Your impromptu panache when confronted (with the waiter and the shrimp) is impressive. We dined there on your recommendation after Chinon, and the atmosphere and food did not disappoint.
Someday, I will write about how I adopted the hauteur of a wealthy, middle aged French woman when I encountered my boyfriend's side piece giggling in our dining room early one morning.