As most people know, Parisian dining is responsible for making dinner a culinary event capable of…read moresoftening the hardest of hearts. Perhaps, I am exaggerating but Remy the Rat would probably have my back, or the top of my head. Oui oui, in the great country of France a bit of chew and gulp is enough to make a cheeseboard an experience of bubbly ecstasy. It is the magic of France that has this capacity to turn the ordinary into meaningful memory. Thus, when I go to an eatery that boasts Parisian roots I expect to have fare that will make my baret fall of my head, while my taste buds bing brighter than the twinkles found in the City of Lights. But on this occassion, the fare felt short of its Parisian promise. In other words, I went into a bakery to get a croissant expecting buttery flakiness and what I got was not that, rather ordinary bread with butter that I could have found in my fridge.
I think that I have become a member of a French firing squad. And that is not my goal. The place is lovely. Sort of. Ok. let me stop myself, and write with more specific details to paint an acurrate portrayal of my visit. And I know my final portraint will not hang in the Louvre, or it might not be read, but at least, like the French I took my twirl at bat.
I ordered two things, at this cafe, as I took a break before continuing on with my evening. The first was an ice latte. As another Yelp user commneted it was "just average." For me speficially, it did not have the chill of a plesant night, more the lack of a chill that belongs to a lukewarm product. Regardless, the coffee did its thing-- perk me up through the power of caffeinne. Not much ouch here. I ordered one of their classics: a create with cinnamon apples, chantilly cream, and powdered sugar. That sounds about right. The bites were sugary and sweet and tasted of applies that were dressed to be fancy. But in the whole the crepe was casual cuisine. I did not detect the whim and craft of Parisian haute couture. However, it was perfectly fine. It had done nothing wrong. It just wore its fancy clothes and did not glow in them, just kind of wore them.
What I appreciated was the fact that they aim to decorate their house with fragments of Parisian culture to help a patron trasport themselves to Paris without the need of a passport stamp. I took a lot of pictures. Some of the stuff was cute. But in the end the amalgation of all of the stuff they have made the place filled with Parisian chatckes. It was a travesty. The collection did not come together, as jigsaw puzzles that finally reveal the Eiffel tower with the background of sky burning with fireworks on Bastille Day. But they still have charm. And I don't mean charm like the prizes one can find at a garaga sale, I mean charm like the prizes one can find at an auction sale, where budget shoppers attend. For instance, there was a red bird inside a cage. And even though my Parisian knowledge is so vast that it can fit in a can of tuna, I cannot connect why a red bird signals French philopshy and culture. There are a lot of posters that effectively take me to a sidewalk cafe. For a sprig of a moment. That I liked very much.
I struggled between three or four star for this place. The item that leaves no room for critique is their patio. One cannot sit there and relax amongst twigs and vines, and a fountain that had water but maybe did not spout. Here I can imagine having a coffee and a pasry or a different dish and finding Paris in rest. And perhaps on this day, there offerings would hit a different knell. Quasidodo would want be to give a second chance. People who look like him want others to offer second chances.
