Food Comas by Denise

It isn't very often that you make dinner reservations for 1:00 am. But then, it isn't very often that you're in the presence of the simple, wholesome culinary greatness known as Chez Denise.

We first saw the restaurant on Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations and fell in love with it before we ever even booked our tickets to Europe, and have been anticipating going there ever since.

Of course, we had time to kill until the magic hour, so we went around and took in Paris by night - easily the best time to appreciate the so-called (and rightly so) City of Lights.


After checking out the Louvre pyramids lit up from beneath and the glowing lights along the Seine, we made it to Chez Denise. And what can we say? It's as solid as advertised. And as vegetarian-unfriendly as any place endorsed by Bourdain.

A round of escargot, a litre of the brilliant house Brouilly, and ginormous côte de boeuf for two, and we had a one-way ticket to Food Coma Town. It didn't help that we finished dinner at around 3:00 am.


Of course, we used the caffeine and sugar rush of a couple of coffees and a fabulous rhum baba to give us just enough fuel to make it into a cab and up the stairs to our hotel room.

La Campagne de Champagne & Parc de Princes

"Merde! Merde merde merde merde MERDE!" (As you can see, I am now thinking - and swearing - in French!) I slept through my alarm. Despite a voicemail and text messages coming in early in the morning, I was an immovable object. We missed our morning train to Epernay - in the heart of the Champagne region - throwing off my one day with a planned timetable horribly.

No matter. It meant getting to the Gare de l'Est train station a couple of hours before the next train, and killing time eating pastries while overlooking the Canal St. Martin.


If that looks familiar, it's because you probably watched Amelie Poulain skipping rocks there in the eponymous movie. Sweet.

When we finally did get to Epernay, it took us a while to find the bike rental center, and we wound up getting the last two bikes they had. What luck.



It was an arduous, hilly ride along a small highway - nearly getting sideswiped by trucks and miniature eurocars - as we made our way to the village of Chouilly. And it was so worth it.

I mean, how often do you get to ride a bicycle through the actual vineyards where the grapes for the world's finest sparkling wines are grown?


Of course, a long, sweaty bike ride through Champagne region should be awarded with a refreshing beverage. What better than to have it than in the caves of Moët and Chandon?


Despite the highly un-classy pose in one of the classiest cellars in the world, we did go whole hog and do the über-classy Imperial tasting. Worth every penny to have the finest vintage Champagnes ever to grace this earth.

We rushed back to Paris to get to our hotel, have a quick change, and take in another facet of European culture: A rugby match at Parc de Princes. Not just any rugby match, but one in the Rugby World Cup.

I can't describe how awesome it was to be at such an international sporting event. The pageantry. The craziness. The sheer enormity of it all. The NFL has nothing on this. People wave flags. People wear crazy outfits. People bring their own band and play national songs. People smoke. Everyone's having a grand time.


And there's nothing better than watching nearly 40,000 people boo Italy.

While we were attending a relatively meaningless match between Italy and Portugal, the largely French crowd of onlookers was there to cheer against the dirty bastards who robbed them of the FIFA world cup last year. And while the Ities wound up pounding the hell out of Portugal, it was a spectacle nonetheless. And Portugal's one and only try of the game happened directly in front of us.

Paris à Pied

We cut a swath across Paris today, from our new neighborhood of Les Batignolles in the northwest, down to the Bastille in the east-central part of town. Quite a ways, if you know Paris - but not as daunting as it sounds.

A quick stroll down Rue de Clichy started our day out right. Alannah made a necessary stop at Sephora. A brief stop in the Opera neighborhood gave us a quick dose of culture... and the feeling of impending doom of dark clouds above.

The wetness started to build up, but we take no prisoners here. So it was to Place Vendome for shopping that neither of us could afford without selling a kidney. Let's just say we checked out a lot of windows.


Admittedly, the cold was getting to us. This made for the perfect excuse to hit up the oft-touristed but also highly revered Angelina. A tea room and cafe on the pricey stretch of the Rue de Rivoli, it's the best place to get one thing, and one thing only: Hot chocolate. As in the best hot chocolate you will ever frickin' have in your life.


We then cut east over to my old neighborhood around the Louvre.

Ok, so I never lived in Paris. But I did stay here for a week and this neighborhood sort of became mine. I know the local bakeries, laundromat, pharmacies - that one week was a crazy microcosm of life, and afterward I felt like I owned the place. Like the narrator/main character in L'auberge Espagnole said, after a while, these funny metro station names, odd streets, etc. start to become yours. And that's how I feel about Paris. I like the funky streets. I love the stink of the Metro. and I love all the weirdos.


And hell, I like the way it brings out my gal's natural beauty.


Alright, so I'm kissing ass because I'm spending valuable romantic Paris time writing in this electronic diary... but she is purdy, ain't she? Besides, why go out and do touristy shit, when it's more fun to observe the tourists? Notre Dame, for example, is prime hunting ground. Next time you're there, ignore the gigantic gothic cathedral, and watch the people around you instead.




The other fun activity around here is cock hunting. Umm, I'll explain. Le coq - the rooster - is France's national animal. And with the Rugby World Cup in town, there are painted up rooster statues around town. They're pretty funky and cool. And there are also monumental statues adorned in French rugby jerseys. Serious.


After our requisite tourist and cock shots, we went after the Jews and the gays.


Umm, ok, that sounds wrong. We went to the Marais, a very hip neighborhood that is traditionally the Jewish quarter and more recently the gay part of town. I'm not quite sure how that goes hand in hand, but it's the way it is. And it's a gorgeous part of the city - old, charming, and home to the beautiful Place de Vosges.


Ok, history and beauty are just an excuse to go bar hopping at some of the loveliest bars in town. While waiting for the awesomely decorated Leche Vin to open (whose every square meter is about covered with Catholic iconography), we sucked down drinks at the über-hip Megalo Bar.



We then cheated and took the Metro north a bit, struck out trying to go to a highly recommended restaurant on Rue Petrelle (tiny, needs reservations), and wound up walking the seedy Pigalle route back toward our hotel.


Honestly, I don't mind at all the sleaze factor around Pigalle. The sex shops, the touts, the hookers - whatever. A red light district is a red light district. What does suck are the hordes of loud American tourists ruining the subtle, dirty vibe with their own drunken hooting and hollering. Yeah, that's right, you're in front of the big neon windmill of the Moulin rouge. Isn't it beautiful? Now shut the fuck up before you give the rest of us a bad name. Oh, wait, too late.


Anyway, if you're in the neighborhood and want the exact opposite of Ugly American tourist hordes, hit up restaurant "Au 24" at, you guessed it, #24 Rue Biot. A French gentleman cooks up classic French and Antillais specialties in the kitchen, while one of the warmest women serves it up, attending perfectly to each table. With only eight tables and very little space in between them, it's the perfect quiet, cozy, and cheap place to enjoy a practically home cooked meal with all the trimmings.

Time to let the food coma go to work and hit the sack. Tomorrow will be an early - and long - day.