I was really intrigued by the open kitchen where they were cooking in full view of the guests, and the big fryer. And had to get up, say hi, and take a better look. These guys were really the masters of les frites. I mean, check out that set-up
krug champagne!
Okay, they weren’t the best frites I’ve ever had, which makes me ask why is it so hard to find restaurants that use fresh potatoes for their frites, in a country where Parmentier
hong kong property agency, a man revered for saving France, even has a métro station named after him? But I suppose I would need a few weeks to figure that one out as well.
So after Romain and I scraped our marmites à moules clean, wiping the last bit of sauce out of the bottom of the pots, and made sure there wasn’t any wine left in the carafe, we split a tarte au sucre bathed in brown sugar sauce. Then, high on sugar, we made our way back to the car
Classroom Control System.
With the winter sun setting at our backs, our bellies full of moules, frites, waffles, and les merveilleux, we headed back to Paris, with a new sink securely in tow.
