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by Barbara Penny Angelakis
Return to the City of Lights
It’s been many years since we’ve traveled to Paris and that saddened me because it’s truly one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But after my last visits I vowed never to return  because of the appalling attitude we had encountered. Wherever we went, bistro, hotel, metro, cab or attraction, we found people were rude, disrespectful and downright insulting. Trying to communicate in my rusty, and therefore halting, French seemed a worse offense then using sign language because all efforts were greeted with irritation and in many cases ignored altogether.
Nostalgia for what could be, instead of what is, softens bad memories and Paris was calling to my soul - plus we had a wedding to attend in Normandy - so we chanced a return to the City of Lights. I am happy to report that, this time, our experience was totally different and totally pleasant. We found courtesy at every turn, helpful assistance and downright friendliness, virtues previously promised but never delivered. Here was the Gaelic hospitality and warmth extended, not always with a smile, but always with a professed desire to help. It was a welcomed surprise to us to experience the changed attitudes of Parisians  towards tourists, those from the United States in particular. I can’t help but wonder if it is due to the influx of multiple cultures and races pouring into the city from all over the world and all communicating in English, the lingua franca of the 21st century. Paris was so clogged with visitors and the euros they were so freely spending, that to maintain the haughty attitudes of the past would clearly have been economic folly.
There was one notable exception to the otherwise improved attitude, which ironically coincided with one of the best meals we had in Paris. Previous to visiting Paris we were in Venice, plus the aforementioned wedding held at the cliff-side village of Etretat on the Normandy coast. By the time we arrived in Paris we were almost wined and dined out. We agreed to keep our consumption to a dull roar, so as not to incur overweight charges on our return flight, and check out some of the bistros; local restaurants; and myriad ethnic eateries, instead of our usual fare (see De Pisis and Antico Pignolo for an update on dining in Venice). The fact that the weather was spectacular and that we choose to dine al fresco also contributed to our choice of eating establishment. Unfortunately, most choices proved to be rather pedantic (see Restaurant Notes).
The best bistro of the lot was Restaurant La Giberne, (translation: grouse or game bird), at 42 bis Avenue de Suffren, a few minutes walk from the Eiffel Tower. The décor was traditionally  charming and the menu was typical… the wine list acceptable, if not particularly inspired. We stuck to the basics and ordered escargot that was cooked to order and delivered to the table bubbling hot. The escargot were plump and juicy with just the right amount of garlic in the pesto sauce for soaking up with crusty French bread. Next came Magret de Canard which was silken and tender on the inside and crisp and crunchy on the outside. The sauce, orange for me, green peppercorn for Manos, was perfectly balanced with a texture that adhered to the meat without being glutinous or too runny. But when we got to the dessert selection, the waiter who had been acceptable haughty up to that point turned positively arrogant. Ice creams and sherbets were listed on one line and plum ice cream was listed on a different one. I had the audacity to inquire what plum ice cream was and he responded with accompanying hand gestures that there were plums on the one (right) hand, and there was ice cream on the other (left) hand, and what else did I need to know? Foolishly I ordered the desert and what I got was stewed prunes stuck in the vanilla ice cream, floating in two fingers of rather awful plum liquor. We were still working on the delicious bottle of 1999 Vieille Église Grand Cru wine we had practically sold our first born for, and I would not have ordered a desert that would have competed with it.
So some things change but there are always the exceptions that prove the rule and in this case the prune in the ice cream was more agreeable then the prune that delivered the desert to our table. Moral: visit Paris and enjoy yourself and ignore any individuals that have an attitude relapse.
© October 2006 LuxuryWeb Magazine. All rights reserved.
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