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Boozy Walks in Paris ... A Memoir and a Map

The best thing about a walk down (a hazy) memory lane for my favorite boozy walks in Paris is that they span some 30 years and, thankfully, show an upward trend in classiness.  You can re-create these boozy walks if you like, and then enjoy the Euro lifestyle fact of no problems for driving: just best of luck finding a taxi. Don't get me started on the Taxi versus Uber thing. 

1.  "The First Time."

That first time was the early 1980s.  The age was 16.  The beverage was cheap red wine.  In a cheap pizza restaurant off the busy, sort of tacky, drag that is le Boulevard St. Michel. I remember red tables and cheap paper placemats.  I remember a pleasant numbness and a sense of my life being so awesome as my other rule-breaker friends (we had snuck out of our hotel) stumbled back. Tearing up a little just thinking about that first time.  

You could re-create this boozy walk by an upgrade:  maybe the goat cheese and cream pizza at Pizza Sant-Antonio (drizzle spicy olive oil on it too) on the picturesque Place du Bourg Tibourg  in the Marais, accompanied by a much higher grade of house red in a nice half carafe.  

2.  "I Love Me a Good Wine Bar/JYF Year of Excess."

The year was 1985, the first part of my Sweet Briar Junior Year in France program. The place was Au Sauvignon.  This lunch was a pivotal gastronomic moment. An upgrade in the red wine for sure -- this was a wine bar after all, but little did I know of such things as "wine bars" back then.  I was just 20 years old and from San Angelo, Texas (San Angelo way cooler now).  I happened to order a glass of "le St. Emilion," and this "tartine" thing on this bread called "Poilâne."  The choice for a tartine was the chèvre.

Revelation: This tart delicious cheese and this fine wine thing all combined.   One glass led to another. We must have purchased a bottle or two because Boozy Walk No. 2 involves a clear memory of clanging bottles in a  bag as we held onto each other walking back for afternoon classes.  Au Sauvignon is still there. Poilâne is still there.  But for those Poilâne tartines the crowds tend to gravitate these days toward Cuisine de Bar.  Amazing what those people can do with a toaster.  

3.  "I love you Serge!/Pamela Popo Part 1 (circa 2011) and Part 2 (2012))."

My Serge Gainsbourg thing derives mostly from the myth of the man and his embodiment of classic, iconic images of Paris.  Smoky sultry bars, jazz, decadence. 

When I first started meeting up with French friends Anne and Romain, who used to live across the street from me in Austin, we met up with their just as hip friends at Pamela Popo.  

As reported in  previous posts...when your friends know the owners of a cool place, nice things happen.  You are introduced to  wonderful things, such as the Panpan Cucul.  We decided "spanky spanky" was the best translation in English for this mint-infused pale pink cocktail.  I would revisit that boozy walk in April 2012 with The Girlfriends Trip To Paris. 

(The Serge connection: "Pamela Popo" is the name of a Serge Gainsbourg song. Listener discretion advised.)  

Enjoy your cocktail(s) in the quirky Mid-Century-esque decor in the comfy lounge downstairs with friends, or sit outside and sip alone, immersed in your social media.

4.  "The $50 (each) Cocktail Buzz."

On one last night in Paris my new friend Maureen decided we should get out and have a nice cocktail.  We started at the Ritz, my choice, because I thought it would be cool.  Only the Hemingway Bar there was cool.  Everything else, non.  For such reasons it is closed for massive renovations.  I did not realize the signature cocktail there was $50. 

Then there was the piano bar at the George V.  Then there was the Plaza Athénée bar (this hotel also closed now for renovations).   As previous posts mention, Paris is so Paris because of this contrast: the high and the low(er) end:  old, as in classic, and new and hipster and genuine.  A boozy walk is just as delightful after an afternoon down in the 11th at natural wine bar La Buvette ... or sitting for hours at the bar at the Plaza Athénée.  You can still check out La Buvette, or any other of the natural wine bars, and as these other luxury hotels are getting facelifts, maybe check out the W. Or Le Meurice. 

5.  "La Dernière Goutte/Down to the Last Drop."

Every time I am in Paris I try to fit in a food tour with Meg Zimbeck and Paris by Mouth. So should you.

Meg has perfect pitch in picking cheese/wine pairings with her friends at La Derniere Goutte.   For that summer month in 2013, I was able to fit in only one Meg event: a "dégustation" of cheese and wine pairings in the back room at La Derniere Goutte.   Our group from all over the world was so charming (one couple I met knew my rock star primary case physician at Austin Regional Clinic!).  We got louder and louder. We "spit" or poured less and less into the giant blue pitcher on the table for that purpose.

Though there was plenty to eat ...

---I was very, uh, suffering the consequences the next day of a bit too much of the good thing (i.e.,  array of exquisitely delicious new red wines and cheese pairings).  I was so caught up in the moment -- Paris, new friends, Paris, red wine, Paris -- that I bought a case of Côte-Rôtie and had it shipped home. Still waiting for the perfect client event to open the box.

I walked all the way home to the edgy 11th, up north of Bastille, because Paris was so heartbreakingly beautiful that afternoon -- if not a little hazy.

 Actual picture taken on that walk home. 

 

 

 

 

 

Talking to Strangers : Dining Solo in Paris (Aux Deux Amis (11ème); Frenchie to Go (2ème))

Back from four weeks in France, on day 2.5 back in Austin, I am still haggard-looking and can barely fit into my last resort, back-up fat jeans.  Thinking back on how crazy it seems now to have worked from France for 4 weeks, some of my best memories are random conversations with people when I was dining solo, and the best conversations were with les francais, not Americans. 

I checked out Aux Deux Amis over in the 11th, where all the neat new places seem to be these days.  Aux Deux Amis has been on my mind, particularly because of my exploration of the natural wine scene in France.   I walked in early enough to get a seat and settled in at the bar. This piece by Amy Thomas at the HiP Paris Blog depicts said bar. 

I got my order in, ordering in such a way that allowed me to try a white and a red wine out of the natural wine selections.  "Vin nature" seems to be all the rage just now.  I was delighted the manager dude picked out which red and which white. The thing with natural wines is that they are outside the AOC/AOP regime. That means that the producers are forbidden from placing anything remotely resembling a reference to a region. Makes it difficult to know what to order: can't say with these wines "I'd like a Brouilly" ... or a Chinon, or a Bordeaux. More on this in an upcoming article. 

I struck up a conversation with the young American guy who took the seat open next to me at the bar.  

I asked him what brought him to Paris (en anglais), a benign conversation-starter. 

He: Oh, I've been coming to Paris for like 14 years now.

[Me, to self: ok, well I've been coming here for like 32 years now so, whatever.]

He inquired where I was from, as he could not discern any regional US accent.  I said Texas. That telltale accent goes away apparently when speaking French for a time.

Me:    This place has been on my list for some time.  I noticed it's also on the top 100 list of bars in Paris.

He:  Oh, no. It's top 10.  I've been coming here ever since it opened.  Some friends brought me here when it first opened.

Realizing he thought himself too cool about all things cool about Paris, I returned to my meal and studying the names of the Seine's quais and bridges.  As part of his sharing his coolness with me though, he recommended I check out Le Baratin, which he was right on, based on Le Fooding's drooling over how great it is, per this review.

One day a lunch reservation falls through. I figure this is a sign to check out Frenchie to Go.  The raving about Frenchie goes on and on.  And true, I love the wine bar. But it's almost Frenchie fatigue. I head out to the tiny rue du Nil off of rue Aboukir. Just to see what the fuss is all about for this addition to the Frenchie empire.

I had to eat crow.  Frenchie to Go is fresh, superbly prepared food, in a simple and laidback venue.   I ordered fish and chips.  And a glass of red natural wine.  The drill is you just go and sit down after ordering.  There is a table off to the side with a large pitcher of water and glasses for you to help yourself.  You do not get a number or anything.  Somehow the someone who brings the food out knows how to find you. 

I installed myself at one of the small community tables/counters in the doorways.  I like the picture this writer includes on his write-up.   As I sit down, the two French guys on the other side of this counter are in the middle of exclaiming to a third friend, who had just walked up, how great the food is: especially the Reuben.(Wendy Lyn at The Paris Kitchen has a spectacular picture of it here.)  

My fish and chips arrives. I stared at it a while. I could not believe how fantastic it looked.  They point out my fish and chips to their friend as yet another example of how stupendous the food is. 

As happiness descends as I break into the crispy fish and steam flies out, and I start dipping the hot steaming crispy white fish into the rustic tartar sauce-esque sauce and the smashed peas, I can't help but interject myself into their conversation.  

"Excuse me, if you don't mind my bothering you to ask ... you're French, and you love this food, what is it about the food that you like so much?"  

This conversation-starter was more successful than the one at Aux Deux Amis.  We ended up talking for at least an hour.  About French politics, the French health care system and home care benefits, attitude differences between the French and Americans, great public spaces in Paris, their travels in the US, my travels in France, my favorite places in Paris, their favorite places in Paris - and new recommendations for me of hip new hotels, public spaces, etc.   I ordered desserts for us to share so I could taste a little bit of all of them: the chocolate doughnut, the rhubarb beignet, and the brownie.  (We liked the whole hazelnuts in the brownie; I liked the intense chocolate in it, but we left it alone otherwise: too dry.  Preferred the rhubarb beignet, but I was not blown away by any of the ones we tried.)

I mentioned how exhausting Paris is contrasted against the heartbreaking gorgeousness of it. 

They agreed:  Paris is exhausting.  You have to get away from it every now and then - to breathe more deeply - and then come back to appreciate it.  And once you can't see the beauty anymore in Paris, it's time to leave.  

For them, growing up and living their adult lives in Paris, the attachment is seeing their personal histories as played out in various corners of Paris.  Could not agree more. 

It was not so hard to leave Paris this time, trip no. 19 (that return to Paris after Nantes and Angers counts as a separate trip).  I just consider this a little time away to breathe.

 Signage at Candelaria the last Sunday in Paris, over killer Sunday brunch "cocktail"  that included absinthe AND mezcal

 

Losing the iPhone in Paris : Oddly Liberating (still annoying); Outdoor "Ciné-Karaoké géant" by the Seine Ends le Festival Paris Cinéma

Signage at La Buvette, a Paris natural wine bar, deep in the 11eme near Pere Lachaise 

This is not a picture from the Paris Film Festival's closing night tonight, which involved outdoor movie karaoke night, in a prime setting along the Seine (in the awesome new build-out that is les Berges), because my iPhone was stolen this morning in the Charles de Gaulle metro station.  

So I have nothing to show and help describe the pretty amazing scenery of a giant movie screen, crowds below singing along, many bateaux mouches going up and down the Seine with their bright white lights shining in the night and lighting up the water, the Louvre lit up in the distance, the white lights of the giant ferris wheel and other neon lights in the dark sky over in the Tuileries.   The night was so chilly and breezy after such a hot (86 degrees) day I almost did not stay for the movie even after getting there way too early at 7:30, having read the movie clips for sing-along would start at 9:30.  Allergies, cool/cold breeze, no movie, and just my sitting there among the happy groups of picnic-ing francais all waiting for the movie to start...that was a long three hours to sit and reflect by oneself without a phone to engage in one's virtual social media world to feel connected.

Haricots blancs from La Buvette

Instead, without the iPhone I had to do something unusual.  I had to just experience the experience.  Experienced it without the compulsive need to document and capture every visually stunning moment.  At many times, especially when I looked with longing and pangs of sadness at everyone else with their iPhones, capturing the cool image of the big screen, the hot pink verbiage of the Paris Film Festival logo against the dark night, the crowds, the funky brass band playing and the people dancing...yea, I felt regret I could not have the visual image to recall the night. None of that though for me.  Hard to accept.  I will have only the memories (which are not reliable at my age).  

Included in those memories will be the visuals of some very awful picnic food some groups were having around me (while I tried to look entertained and content by reading The Economist).  I have to say : the French know how to do a picnic.  They were out en masse for this event and had planned ahead.  Everyone else but me just about had bottles of wine, baguettes, cheese, tomatoes, hummus--18 packs of Kronenbourg.  Nothing particularly high-end or sophisticated.  Just a bunch of food. But the 20+ gals next to me were eating some things I wish I could block out of my memory bank forever:  industrial doughy white slices of bread, slices of slimy turkey out of a plastic package, processed cheese slices, and some jam/spread thing to top off that lovely sandwich.

Small plate of manchego shavings at La Buvette (and of course great bread, cut thickly and...toasted!)

However, from some of the less-than-great situations on this trip (having iPhone stolen would be one of those), I have had some different, real-life experiences of Paris and its inhabitants--experiences beyond figuring out which red wine to order for an apero on the rue des Abbesses and which cafe should I hang out with le laptop: Le Sancerre or Le Vrai Paris (they are right next to each other on Rue des Abbesses). 

Example:  Had to trek from Charles De Gaule Etoile metro station (after one meeting) to go to Abbesses for 11h30.  There I realized I was without my life support device while traveling abroad that is the iPhone.  Friend I met there tried to call RATP for me to see about lost and found.  We had a nice visit nonetheless.  She thought I should check back with the station and see if someone picked it up.  Yes, yes - I will do that.  Hope springs eternal.  Back to Charles de Gaulle Etoile.  No luck. But the guys at the Info booth/command central for the station were quite helpful in at least helping to make the inquiry--or make it look like they were helping. 

I run back to apartment to get address for 2 pm meeting far away - no iPhone to remind me or help me find the place so I have to use a real map to get there.   I make the 2 pm meeting.

Back to apartment to (i) call AT&T via Skpye on the laptop; and (ii) block the phone now that I have confirmed no hope for finding it.  [The 2 pm meeting person regales me with stories of flagrant thievery.  When he asked if it was crowded where I was (yes, very) - he confirmed that this was no mere loss or casual thievery.  More orchestrated and, alas, very typical.]

No point getting new iPhone here (locked, more expensive, about to leave anyway): I should go to Orange - the carrier here - and get a pay-as-you-go phone.   And so I do.

They could not have been nicer at the Orange store in my quartier.  The nice lady gets me all set up; we discuss how much time I should buy.  We discuss the manner in which I was accosted/thieved. Another customer comes in.  She says - yes, madame, I will be right with you please have a seat."

But then Orange assistant person, totally focused on my dilemma, has the idea: Had I contacted the police?  Well, no, I had not thought of that.  She decides she needs to get the address and phone number. Her manager comes out.  They proceed to attach themselves to this task, which requires deciding which arrondissement I was in, and where the relevant police station would be.

All the while, the other customer is sitting there waiting while they are both surfing for information for me.  She writes down the address and phone number for me.   She wishes me luck (bon courage). 

I would, 2 hours later, be back at the store for help getting the SIM card in the phone.  The manager is there from earlier in the day. He fixes that issue, handily, and then sets up everything on the phone for me: date, time, language, etc.   

Between this and the cute little guy near Place de Clichy being so tickled that I was his first customer to buy the first of his first shipment of suitcases (cheap suitcases are everywere for sale for tourist crowd) that he gifted me with a couple of Eiffel Tower key chains, I am once again amazed at the kindness of Parisian folks.  And in the most unlikely places. 

Mi amigo from Paris...Tio Pepe

(so misleading...sort of sorry: this picture has nothing to do with sherry.  It is from another trip to France, however, to Angers, to check out l'Atoll, a lovely outdoor shopping forum with some super edgy design elements)

Some readers may recall, from last April's trip to Paris--that triathlon training/pre-pneumonia trip--that I had an encounter with a certain Tio Pepe.   I was in Paris looking for Verjus, for a long-awaited dinner reservation, and wandered in confusion around quirky multi-level, multi-staired streets around the Palais Royal, looking for Verjus, when I came across what I thought was the Verjus Wine Bar.  Which I thought would be a good place to while away an hour or so before the dinner reservation.  I was wrong -- about it being the Verjus Wine Bar that is.   I had stumbled into another (maybe even more perhaps) fabulous wine bar--one with a much longer pedigree in this charming quartier.  Juveniles.  Unknown to me at the time, but well-known now, it is one of the best wine bars in Paris for some. 

I asked for something cold and dry to just take the edge off before dinner in an hour or so.   What I got was a glass of something cold, crisp and white and bright - just what one wants if one is drinking something white rather than red.  

This was Tio Pepe, a Spanish dry sherry, fino style.  As I am in party-planning mode currently, and though already up to two signature drinks for the evening, I am recalling I just have to add Tio Pepe into the mix.

I so agree with Tim League's pronouncement:  not your grandma's sherry - in his BADASS Digest in which he includes my dear friend Tio Pepe.  (Caveat: It's an older 2011 article and refers to a sherry tasting at The Highball.  Long, long sigh that Highball is N/A right now.)  

Poor sherry...so maligned.  But I'm apparently not alone in my somewhat late to the party (as always) awakening -- to sherry -- thanks only to that wrong turn in Paris.  

Sherry is having a comeback, however, in the US and in London apparently, per this Food and Wine article, Sherry on Top:  "Given that sherry hasn’t been fashionable since the late 1700s or so, that’s quite a statement. But in London—and to some degree at restaurants in the US run by forward-looking sommeliers—sherry is having its moment."  

There's too much technical detail in that article for me.  But I heartily agree with the following based on my empirical study during that early spring evening in Paris. The Food and Wine article linked above reports for Tio Pepe, as one of "5 Great Sherries to Buy":

One of the world’s most popular sherries, this fino is also very good: dry, balanced and crisp, with a light minerally tang. Look also for the limited-production, unfiltered En Rama bottling (#25), which is more intense and exotic.

Yep, Tio Pepe, the time has come.  It has been a year.  A rough year, true.  But still. I have not held true to my promise to stay well-stocked with you in le frigo, lined up there along with my many bottles of random sparkling wines from many countries and the V-8 Splash, which many days substitutes (at least in my mind) for my son's daily vegetable servings when I am not making him haricots verts in garlic and olive oil (the only vegetable he appears to tolerate), which is often. 

But your day is coming, Tio, my friend.  We will see if you are available at (i) The Austin Wine Merchant or(ii) last resort, Spec's.  Hasta luego.

International Food Law Stuff (AOC, DO): you say sparkling wine/Prosecco/Cava I say we say champagne, sometimes, and incorrectly

It was ironic that I would receive a David Lebovitz blog post called "Champagne, Reims, and Veuve Clicquot" just hours after realizing a faux pas I made on one of my own blog posts.   I called a beverage champagne that, in fact, was not champagne at all.  I did not know this at the time, as I knew little about the lovely sparkling beverage I had been served.  But I should have known, and I could have known, were I not so caught up in the festivities, fun, and self-reflexion and getting too much sun (and wine) too early in the day. 

The lovely sparkling wine provided for the Austin Angers Music 2013 festivities was this Bouvet Rosé Excellence produced by Bouvet-Labuday, and available in the US through Kobrand Wines and Spirits.

Of course, a sparkling wine that one may unthinkingly call "champagne" is not truly "champagne," and in fact may technically not be called that at all unless it comes from a specific region in France -- "Champagne," "one of the great historic provinces of France," as this site explains.   So what, you might say.  Well, so a lot.  There are international trade laws on this topic, and the interplay of international and national and EU laws for regional food specialities is well, pretty darn fascinating.  And complicated. 

My "champagne" error touched on an issue I was (very) lightly researching, on regional laws protecting food as an intellectual property issue.  The champagne issue is thick in the middle of this controversial topic in certain circles.  Some back story is in order.

Recall a few labels you may have seen on your favorite French wine and you might recall the term "AOC."  "AOC" is the shorthand version for a French term (though other countries have similar terms, such as Denominacion de Origen) loaded with legal and cultural consequences in terms of regulating what food or wine may be called what. It is "Appellation d'Origine Controllée."   A site for Diplomatie France explains it this way:

The AOC system was initiated in 1935 to safeguard the specificity of products originating in France’s regions, or terroirs. It is administered by the Institut National des Appellations d’Origine (INAO), the national regulating body established at the time. The INAO recommends labels of origin to the French government and drafts all related regulations. It also ensures the labels are controlled and protected, both nationally and internationally, requiring producers to strictly observe the rules they have set themselves to. Beyond indicating a product’s geographic origin, the AOC designation also focuses on specific criteria such as geological, agronomical and climatic factors, as well as indisputable know-how. For example, in order to receive the label of guarantee from its region of origin, the famous Roquefort cheese must meet a series of criteria: specific manufacturing process, the use of milk from sheep raised in the region according to traditional breeding techniques and fed a certain type of forage, in addition of course to specific characteristics (cheese’s colour, appearance, etc.). Such stringent requirements guarantee the product’s quality.

We who love food and food experiences could probably all agree this is a good thing, in terms of wanting to make sure a particular camembert is in fact from Normandie to ensure that a particular flavor associated with a camembert from Normandie can be had when purchasing a cheese with that label.  The system ("AOP" in terms of such products as camembert: see here) protects me to make sure I am getting what I want and what I am willing to pay a premium for even. 

Things get more complicated for libations that have been part of our common (American) cultural reference vocabulary for like, forever.   Such is the case for the beverage known as "champagne," as we laypersons, outside the food/beverage/restaurant industries, sometimes use the term "champagne" in a generic form (wrongly) to refer to anything bubbly.  This may be because of a loophole in the international law that addressed this issue.  For example, per this article, back in 1993:

...the International Agreement of Trade-Related Aspects of Intellectual Property Rights (TRIPS) recognized wine appellations as valuable intellectual property rights. Under provisions that took effect in 1996, many signatory countries (including the U.S.) have agreed to protect Geographical Indications (GIs).  The Joint Declaration to Protect Wine Place & Origin was signed in 2005, and now has the support of 15 international wine regions.

But as the article notes, there is indeed a loophole, despite efforts of US wine producers and advocates to get people, and wine producers, to use the right words in the US when it comes to what is really "champagne" and what is not really "champagne":

The Center for Wine Origins has been hard at work to protect these GIs....This particular problem is a little bit different—it focuses on an interesting loophole that exists in the current agreement, an exception that protects the continued use of geographic indications that were in trademarks and in actual use before TRIPS became effective. In the bilateral trade agreement, the term ‘champagne’ grandfathers’ U.S. producers using the name prior to 2005—the aftermath is evident as we continue to see U.S. producers such as Korbel’s ‘California Champagne’ on supermarket shelves.

And if you need a more authoritative, detailed source from lawyers who really know this stuff, the American Bar Association has this comprehensive summary of that patchwork of international laws, including a piece on the major philosphical differences between the US and European legal systems in dealing with such issues.

As for me and my everyday life between baseball practice, lightly monitoring homework and my carb intake and keeping up with Federal Circuit cases, I vow to do better.  And though I am having a hard time wrapping my vocabulary around inviting friends to raise their glasses for a "sparkling wine toast" or a "Prosecco toast," I may just have to buy French champagne (redundant) for a real champagne toast.   Better yet, I can do what the wine bars do.  Notice they never have a section for "champagne."  That part of the libations menu is simply "Bubbles."  A bubbles toast it shall be.  Cheers!

Airplane and Airport Food : le Tapas Box and the so-not-a-Croque Monsieur

Thanks to a kind, on-the-ball ticketing agent at Reagan National Airport, I scored a seat on an earlier flight back to Texas.  This was good news and bad news.  Good news because if I caught the next leg of the trip, Houston to Austin, based on risky stand-by status, I'd get in two hours earlier ending three days of hotel living and working.   The bad news was that this really messed up what and how I would eat that day.  With memories of perhaps one of the most expected yummiest meals ever - at Zaytinya (Greek, Lebanese, Turkish small plates) - I had a feeling this would be a very different food day.  So why not make the best, or worst, of it.

If I did make stand-by, there would be no time to eat.  I had been subsisting on protein bars mostly while in D.C., better get something on the plane. Mary-Kate and Ashley needed to be tended to while this 10-days-old Parisian cold lingered on top of no real sleep while in D.C. (M-K & A is my code name for flawed adrenal system I've been working on improving: think back on their dark, goth, pale, about-to-fall-over-if-a-mild-breeze-came-by selves - yep, that's what the old non-operative adrenal system felt like before I found wise miracle worker Eleanor McCulley at Austin 3-D Health).

And so it was that I made a reluctant foray into those purchased "snacks" on United Airlines. I went for the Tapas Box.  Seemed fairly healthy.  Roasted red peppers, almonds, hummus, pita chips.  With the UT Food Lab's Food, the City, and Innovation Conference from just a few days earlier fresh on my mind, I immediately silently gasped in horror at the amount of packaging that went into this item:  a box, yes.  But plastic wrapped around the box.  Open the box: an array of items, all individually packaged. 

Of special note was the interesting packaging for the hummus.  Which on arrival I noted, with some concern for its ingredients, was called a "hummus dip."   It is contained in that green waxy cardboard multi-sided package above, tucked to the right of the Roasted Red Pepper "Bruschetta" (which was not awful, if I ignored the slight resemblance it had to Pace picante sauce, which continues to grace America's grocery store aisles, to my complete bewilderment)).  The hummus packaging was such that you could just squeeze it out onto your carb of choice: three types of crackers in there.  I went for the pita chips for that, which meant the Pace picante sauce-flavored "bruschetta" (as we know, bruschetta refers to the ensemble of topping on crisped/grilled baguette slices), had to go on just a regular cracker.  Weird.  Sure, I ordered some wine - that mini bottle of what for me is barely even one glass of wine.  The AV system was lame on this not-yet-upgraded plane: I figured I needed something to pass the time. 

Once we arrived at IAH, it was first rush from Terminal E to Terminal B to see about that Stand By status.  Realizing I had plenty of time though, en route I stopped in at Le Grand Comptoir, a nice-enough looking wine bar, with locations at just Newark and Houston it looks like for now.  And with a French name, I could not resist. Sure, I knew, at some deep unconscious level that another glass of wine was a bad idea.  With the cough increasing, the Sudafed cycling down, and the Hall's eucalyptus cough drops creating vague numbness in the back of my throat...I was more deleriously tired than full from the environmentally unsound Tapas Box.  I went for the wine at the wine bar. And, why not, let's check out the Croque Monsieur.  

Service was nice enough. Pleasant.  And the crowd up at the bar was a nice group of folks. A little more upscale than the types I was seeing at Chili's, which as we know has that plastic mug thing for beverages that throws me into an apoplectic fit for inexplicable reasons.  Okay they are explicable: The plastic.  The thought of having any anything - water, iced tea - out of a plastic mug with a handle.  The handle and the plastic.  Therein lies the horror.

In the meantime, the European, in a good way, -looking guy next to me was ordering the Penner Ash - at a price I had noted and marvelled at on the menu - before I went for anything I could find below or at $10.00.  

And then le croque monsieur arrives.  Uh, excuse me.  The menu made it sound like you knew what a croque monsieur was.  As I Tweeted that moment in abject disappointment, ceci n'est pas un croque monsieur.  What is wrong this picture: 

 Right.  It is a ham sandwich with a little but of cheese, and a mustard-dipping sauce. I was too numb with travel fatigue to make some clever conversation about this not being a croque monsieur - which I am sure would have impressed everyone around me. I just left and checked out my standby status in Terminal B.  The flight was already oversold. No go.

Back I had to go, back to Terminal C, after being at Terminal E upon landing, and then Terminal B. I passed by Le Grand Comptoir again on the way back.  My cough and I just kept going, but next time -- it is the venue of choice there at IAH.  Just think "Americanized" sort-of French food.  And it sure beats a plastic-wrapped Tapas Box.