Between jet lag, laziness, and George-Costanza-level interactions on the metro with very rude strangers, I’ve neglected to discuss the main activity so far of this trip: eating!

We arrived in Paris early last Friday, and headed to Le Chant des Oliviers in the 18th arrondissement for dinner that evening. This is one of our favourite places to eat in Paris, having first visited about ten years ago. It’s always been packed each time we’ve visited, mainly with locals who also seem to be regulars. The staff always seem to remember D and me, even though our visits to them are months apart.

At the end of our (filling) meal last Friday, the maitre d’ (who has also been our server many times at previous visits) offered us each a digestif of our choice, on the house. When I whined like the ingrate that I am that I was so full from all the delicious food that I didn’t think I could ingest anything else without harming myself, she gave me a look that said, “who are you to refuse my hospitality?!” before launching into a funny and very persuasive lecture about why a digestif is the perfect antidote to over-indulgence! Small wonder they enjoy a loyal clientele.

Saturday evening was spent at Philou, a tiny bistro with gigantic chalkboard walls. Like our beloved Le Chant des Oliviers, the front staff at Philou was minimal, with 2 servers plus one bartender looking after the entire dining room. Philou is in a neighbourhood not frequented by tourists, therefore it’s a bit hard to find, but definitely worth the research and metro ride.

The most charming part about Philou, aside from their genial staff, is the giant chalkboard walls on which are printed the daily menus and wine lists. Unusual for Paris, they also offer a generous number of wines by the glass, half-litre, and litre, which is incredibly useful when diners at the same table are eating disparate things. Not that it’s a big deal if you’re forced to drink a red with a pan-fried white fish because your companion is eating a great bloody steak, but the ability to choose glasses of wine instead of full bottle might take the edge off of the ensuing hostility. Not that I speak from experience.

My milestone birthday last night was spent at the tried and true Astier, a classic French bistro. The starter that I ordered was smoked herring with potatoes. Astier is so old-school that they brought my herring in the beautiful crockery in which it was prepared (confit’d in oil with thin slices of onion, carrot, and whole branches of thyme), and placed a serving spoon and fork in it. As they had also placed a small plate and cutlery in front of me, I understood immediately that the herring was served family-style. Still though, as he walked away, the server spun around, hands stretched toward the herring, and urgently advised me that I was not expected to eat the whole thing myself.

He had second thoughts though, and added, “mais si vous l’aimez, je pourrais vous emporter une autre”. If I really liked it though, he could bring me another.