Oysters Are Next to Godliness
Now we are in Hotel Saint Beuve in the St Germain neighborhood in the 6th arrondissement in Paris. We woke up by 7am and said goodbye to Calendal and kissed the Amphitheatre goodbye (at least metaphorically). It made more sense for us to catch the train in Avignon rather than in Arles, as we would have had taken a local train from Arles with a ridiculously long layover to catch the TGV to Paris. Now let me sing the praises of the TGV and the French government for making such an investment. They needed to lay down a lot of new track, as the fast trains couldn’t function the way they were intended to on the old rail. So it was a tremendous investment first off. Which is one of the reasons it costs more to ride the TGV, even on the same route as the local train. But the best part is that it took what would have been a 6.5 hour drive or a 6.5 hour train ride in the states (if not more) and turned it into a 3 hour train ride. In the relative blink of an eye, we were back in Gare de Lyon, in the eastern part of Paris.
We caught a cab and Dan told him we are going to Hotel St Beuve and he didn’t know where it was. So Dan clarified that it is in St Germain. And the cab driver asked “in Paree?” “Oui, in Paree, 6th arrondissement, St Germain” and this seemed to clear up matters. I wasn’t even aware that there was a St Germain outside of Paris, but I learn something new each day (hopefully more than one thing each day). He put our address in the GPS and we were off.
We arrived at this wonderful hotel and were greeted warmly by the woman behind the desk. The lobby was decorated in rich tones of red and on the modern side. Very tasteful. Not overdone. Now, we had filled up an extra suitcase I had brought empty for the purpose of collecting gifts and treasures. So in short, we were carrying a ton of shit. The lady opened the elevator for us and I stepped in with a couple bags and Dan put the rest of the bags in. Here’s the funny part, he didn’t fit in the elevator! I stated “you take the stairs, I’ll meet you upstairs.” So he climbed six flights of stairs and I schlepped our fleet of bags into the room, which was an absolutely charming room, I may add.
The Charming Saint-Beuve
We were at the top floor of one of the buildings that typifies, but isn’t limited to, Parisian architecture from the mid 1800’s. This architectural style was popularized by Georges-Eugene Haussmann who was chosen by Napoleon III to “renovate” Paris. Things actually looked a lot different before he put his stamp on the city of light. There is a lot of controversy about how Haussmann obliterated “old” Paris, which to some extent I am sure is warranted. But given that Napoleon set him loose, the results do have a certain charm. Ornate stonework ran down the length of the building and the windows were decorated with equally as ornate black metal work. The décor was simple and comfortable. We were more than happy to kick back for a bit and just absorb our surroundings.
This Architecture is Not Limited to, Yet It Depicts Paris Architecture
Sometime around 2pm, our stomachs starting talking loudly. We hadn’t really had a real meal yet other than a little yogurt at the train station. The oyster lunch that didn’t happen in Lyon was a definite option and actually, it was a yearning. Dan had read in Alexander Lobrano’s book about a hole in the wall oyster bar in the St Germain. It was a date. We walked over and it was indeed the size of a hole in the wall and it was very crowded. The large platters of succulent oysters looked more than a little bit enticing. Eventually we were seated and we ordered two dozen of the largest, sweetest variety and four large sea urchins. I have never had a full dozen raw oysters to myself and the experience was so incredible, I have promised to myself to repeat it, hopefully in the not too distant future. As is typical with a French meal (even in a hole in the wall), a couple of hours went by.
Some Women Want the Pearls, I Just Want the Oysters
We took the Metro to the right bank, to visit a spice shop we had read about a while ago. The back story is that Olivier Roellinger, a top rated chef from Brittany, found his passion in spices which turned into his procuring what he deems to be the best spices from around the world and selling them as is as well as also creating his own unique spice mixtures. For example, there were at least a couple of dozen types of vanilla, each with slightly different scents. One wouldn’t notice these differences, unless each variety is smelled next to each other, which is to say, the differences are very subtle. It was fun to conduct our own “smelling” and note the differences. Also notable was the ship in a glass case, made entirely of cloves. It was clearly a labor of love on someone’s part.
Spices Have Been Coveted by Europeans for Centuries
A Ship Constructed of Cloves
Walking back to the Metro warranted a stop to admire this most impressive building we stumbled upon on route. It was the Opera House. So stately, the colors, the size and the intricate design. Paris has a lot going for it and one of the major attributes is that everywhere you walk or look, you happen upon a masterpiece of a building. Perhaps strolling down some street, you see a large and elaborate church. What is it, you ask? Haven’t a clue. It’s “just” another Parisian building. Anyway, we didn’t take the time to go in. Just a few pictures and we were on our way.
We Stumbled Upon the Opera House
After another ride on the Metro back to our hotel we relaxed a bit before heading off for dinner. We were excited to try out another female chef in addition to Anne-Sophie. In fact, we targeted specifically experiencing one of the few Michelin starred female chefs in Paris. Ninety five per cent of these chefs are male. Hélène Darroze was awarded Best Female Chef of the Year award and she worked under Ducasse, so we selected her.
Her restaurant is in the St Germain so we walked there. We walked in and there and there was nobody to greet us. We waited a couple minutes and then someone escorted us upstairs to our table. The walls were royal purple and very plush. I really liked the ambiance, although it wasn’t to Dan’s tastes so much. The service was very formal and for the amuse bouche, someone came over with a large prosciutto on a wooden cart, and sliced it in front of us. A nice touch.
Unfortunately, that was the end of the nice touches and our gastronomic adventure went into the crapper from there. I hadn’t noticed we had the worst seat in the house, since I was facing into the broader dining area. Dan was facing me and behind me was a service room where the curtain kept opening and shutting (although it stayed mostly open) and looked into an ugly little room. I am not sure what everyone was doing in there. It seemed more like it was a break spot as opposed to a food service area. Dan’s witnessing our head waiter picking his nose was unappealing, to say the least.
The food was presented very nicely, but the taste didn’t make the cut, at all. Nothing had any flavor. No salt, no spice, no herbs. The service was slow as molasses. After the amuse bouche, it was an hour before we had our first bite of food. That is unacceptably slow, even by the French standard. In addition to inattentive service, the food literally got inedible through the night. Dan got cold chicken for his main dish, except it wasn’t supposed to be cold. Even if it was warm, it still lacked any redeeming flavors. I had a fish dish that contained pureed carrots. The carrot was smeared across the plate, like someone accidentally put their hand in my finished dish and made mish mosh like a two year old. Now I am not a picky eater and at home, I dispense with fancy in favor of practical. But Hélène is presenting her restaurant as haute cuisine and she is charging prices that reflect her patrons are eating haute cuisine. And so taking things in the proper context, having smeared plates of cold, flavorless food, is simply unacceptable.
At the proper time, when our waiter (the nosepicker), asked us about how our meal was, Dan told him that his chicken was cold. I felt the need to elaborate and let him know we were extremely disappointed with the meal. While the food overall looked nice on the plate, it lacked flavor and was one of the worst meals we have ever paid for. Now what followed was astonishing. We saw Nose Picker talk to the other wait staff and even the maître d’. So we knew that everyone knew we were disappointed. Yet throughout the rest of the evening (cheese, dessert – which we didn’t even eat), nobody approached us to acknowledge our sub-par experience. The fact that Hélène doesn’t have a system set up to deal with such things (and we had a hard time believing that this never happened before), also shows how unprofessional her service is.
More Flavorless Haute Cuisine
We though Paul Bocuse was the emperor wearing no clothes. Hélène takes the cake on that one. At least Paul’s food tasted good, it just was shitty service and terribly overpriced. Hélène scored an 8.5 out of 20. In fact, not only would we not eat there again, if the meal were offered to us for free. We wouldn’t even want to waste our time and we feel like we would need to be paid handsomely just to endure the experience again.
Just around the corner as we left, we were approached by the American couple who was sitting near us at dinner. They came up to us and asked us what we thought of the meal. We said we didn’t like it. They started on their rant. They couldn’t believe how bad the food was, even if it wasn’t Michelin rated, it still wouldn’t be good. They said they politely let the waiter know that they were seriously disappointed and they didn’t get acknowledged. They also stated that they wanted to go there to support a female chef and that since she won Female Chef of the Year, they figured she was a safe bet. We quickly commiserated with them and let them know our experience mirrored theirs. We also told them that if they had more time before they left Paris and still wanted to support a female chef, go to La Dame la Pic. They would not be disappointed.
It was well after midnight and we walked home, enjoyed the cool, crisp air, and soaked up the charm that pervades Paris.
My First Ever Visit to an Oyster Bar, but Certainly Not My Last