Exiting the Metro we came face-to-face with the red hulk of the Moulin Rouge -- certainly a far cry from it's original incarnation to be sure. We quickly turned north up Rue Lepic, one of the more interesting streets in Montmartre, filled with all kinds of food stuff, and in fact our objective was a little spice spice shop, Le Comptoir Colonial, suggested by (of course) Clotilde, who by the way lives in Montmartre. Located at no. 18 rue Lepic, this shop has much more than spices: oils, vinegars, and plenty of Asian condiments as well as an incredible selection of black, white and other pepper from all over the world.
After leaving Le Comptoir Colonial, we crossed Rue des Abbesses and headed up (and up is the operative word here) Rue Tholoze, in the direction of the Moulin de la Galette. In the days of Toulouse-Lautrec, this was as famous, if not more so than it's well-marketed cousin, the Moulin Rouge. Plus the view would have been much better. Located in what was once a virtual wasteland of shanties and hovels once inhabited by destitute artists and the marginalized of Parisian society, the Moulin de la Galette is today only a shadow of it's former self -- the windmill still looks, I believe, much like the original but it is now only a restaurant catering, one assumes to the the tourists who probably only want to pretend they can still hear the music.
We strolled onward and upward, skirting in behind the Moulin, turning down Avenue Junot, one of Napoleon's generals who is buried in Pere Lachaise, although his witty, stylish and very attractive wife, Laure is buried in Montmartre cemetery.
We walked along the quiet back streets of Montmartre, turning left onto Rue Caulaincourt, looking for Arnaud Larher's patisserie. We soon found his shop, covered with a distinctive and uniquely attractive orange facing. We stepped inside and after Susie checked out the various selections -- we purchased a couple of items and walked out. Stepping across the street we grabbed a vacant bench in the shade of a tree -- but then this entire rue is lined with shade trees -- and commenced to examine our purchases in greater detail.
I had the eclair caffe (top), and while the choux dough tasted very good we were both unimpressed with the filling; it lacked any of the intense richness we had come to expect from eclairs in Paris and there was very little hint of coffee. Susie had opted for the "Supreme," a scrumptious chocolate cake layered with chocolate-blackberry mousse and finished off with a blackberry creme brulee layer. This was good. This was very good.After our brief repast we strolled down Rue Caulaincourt toward Montmartre cemetery. I had promised a correspondent to my Paris cemeteries blog that I would try to find her ancestor, who had apparently died of cholera in Paris in 1831. Sadly, the office was closed to I couldn't access the records. Maybe later this week we may get back to the cemetery. We did pay our respects to Julie Recamier, however before leaving. If you're in the cemetery, stop by and say hello to one of the most interesting people from the Napoleonic period, an era packed with fascinating men and women. (She would have been even more interesting today, no doubt.)
So from the cemetery we walked to the no. 2 at Place de Clichy and got onto the 2 to Villiers where we transferred to the no. 3 line and exited at the Bourse metro stop. From there we walked south along rue Vivienne to Petits Champs, turned right and turned left at rue Richelieu.
We were on our way to another Clotilde recommendation: Isse.
Billed as "tempura and tapas," we fortunately arrived after the lunch rush, since the place was quite intimate. Pushing the door open we found ourselves inside a sleek, glass and metal interior but felt it warmly inviting nonetheless.
We each ordered the "Menu tempura," and were treated to a several courses of mini treats (miso soup, seaweed, that sort of thing) until they brought out the piece de resistance: shrimp and vegetables dipped in a scrumptious tempura batter, accompanied by a large bowl of rice.
Isse, 45 rue de Richelieu, 75001.After lunch we strolled down the petits champs until it became Etienne Marcel -- we were heading in the direction of the old Les Halles, Les Innocents and and the one other shopping vice Susie has: the bakeware at Mora on Rue J-J Rousseau.
I opted to sit this one out and grabbed a table at at one of our favorite cafes, the Etienne Marcel and had a caffe and watched people, notably two young women having an intense discussion that turned into a full-blown argument, bringing tears to both sets of eyes and various other emotive actions. They were each accompanied by friends -- their "seconds" perhaps? -- and one wonders what the argument was about: stolen love, betrayal, lost keys, wrecked car, who knows?
Susie soon joined me and we headed home. On the Metro of course.
We spent an hour or so relaxing at home before getting ourselves back together, and heading back out into the wilds and wonders of the Paris streets.
Taking the Metro from Richard-Lenoir -- ean easy 5-minute walk -- we changed to the no. 1 at Bastille and then got off at the Hotel de Ville, but didn't exit above ground. Instead we walked into the huge BHV department store through it's underground connector to the Metro. I wanted to browse the book section as I am on a hunt for books on Paris cemeteries in general and Pere Lachaise in particular.
My quest was partially rewarded with a copy of a copy of Le Pere-Lachaise: Guide du Flaneur, by France Raimbault. Not the best produced study of the cemetery as it turned out, but a step in the right direction.
From BHV we retraced our steps through the underground connector and got right back on the no. 1., getting off at the Tuileries. We crossed rue de Rivoli and strolled under the arcade looking for Galignani bookstore, one of Paris' several English language bookstores (they do have a substantial French department as well).
Although we easily found the store a quick question to the store staff produced the answer that they in fact had no books on Paris cemeteries -- this given with a most quizzical look as if why on earth would one be interested in such a thing in the first place -- so it was off up Rivoli to W. H. Smith, the British bookseller, to learn if they had any books on the burial grounds of Paris.
No, they didn't either. But it was a beautiful evening so we strolled passed the US embassy -- guarded by several thousand gendarmes it seemed -- and then up the Champs Elysees but following the quieter side gardens, which we had never really noticed before. Susie wanted to check out the Lenotre venue where she will come Saturday morning for class. (They have a small "pavilion" just along the Champs Elysees where they hold their short courses.)
When we reached the FDR Metro at one corner of the Rond Pont des Champs Elysees, we slid underground and grabbed the no. 9 for the Trocadero and views of the Eiffel tower. From the Trocadero we strolled down Avenue du President Wilson in the direction of Place de L'Alma where we grabbed a couple of chairs outside at the cafe Grand Corona, and sat and had an aperitif and watched the incredible amount of traffic going every which way and all at once.
You have to understand that the Grand Corona is the one cafe we remember from our first trip to Paris more than ten years ago, when we had our first taste of what Parisians can do with a simple mix of warm goat cheese, greens and a vinaigrette. Naturally, we always stop here at least once for a drink and think of how much has changed in our lives since then.
The sun was very low in the sky when we paid our bill, and walked across the street to the Metro and the no. 9. We returned to the FDR stop and changed back to the no. 1 and got off at Bastille. We strolled up and out at the de la Roquette exit, walking down a street we have come to know so well.
About 100 meters along rue de la Roquette we turned right onto the short but very unique rue de Lappe. Why unique? Well it is virtually all cafes/bars/restaurants, and many of them ethnic: Egyptian, Mexican, and the one that appealed to us: Corsican.
The entire front wall of the large Bar Bat was in fact one big open space where the tables and chairs, large easy chairs, all seemed to spill outside onto the roadway. Susie suggested we give this place a try so we walked inside and were seated right away.
The staff was friendly, the ambiance warm and inviting and, in true bistro style we were socially connected with our neighbors. The menu was in Corsican (with French in parenthetical subtitles)and the language seemed to remind us of a cross between Italian and Sardinian, for what that's worth.
But since we've been to college and have spent some time in France trying to decipher the lingo we competently (more or less) made our choices: Susie had a ravioli dish and I had a grilled steak with some of the best "frites" I have ever eaten. Most if not all the wines appeared to be Corsican -- and we had a delicious half-bottle of red with our meal (San Michele was the producer I believe but don't quote me).
The meal was incredible -- our one non-Clotilde foray into the food world on this trip in fact -- and we would easily recommend this place. Oh, and they also have free internet connection. How cool is that?
Bar Bat, 23 rue de Lappe, open from 19:00-23:30, during the week, and until 2:00am on weekends. Not bad. you can find them online at www.barbat.fr
After spending a couple of hours enjoying one of the many thousands of culinary wonders that Paris has to offer, we paid our bill (something they appreciate here in France) and headed back to rue de la Roquette, strolling through Place Leon Blum and bidding bonne nuit to Leon, who, as always is still keeping his eyes fixed on the Mairie for the 11th arr., and home to bed.
