Paris Café

During our drive to the Gorges I of course needed food, so we stopped in a very cute town and decided to roll the dice and not consult our Bible – The Michlelin. We tried one place that was too smoky, and then settled in the end on a place called Paris Café. (I think there were only three restaurants in the town.). Scott had duck confit and I ordered a soup au pistou and onion tart. The restaurant had old pink flower wall paper that you would see in a western movie in a house of ill-repute. There was in fact a long staircase in the dinning room that I was expecting can-can girls to float down at any moment, or at the very least some crazy, obese French madam, but that didn't happen. The bathroom also had this strange sink contraption that had peddles on the floor that you had to step on to make the hot and cold water come out. However, they were so far under the sink it was impossible to step on them at the same time, so you have to play that step on the hot, quick step on the cold game the whole time, telling yourself that this ridiculous process is actually going to make the water come out in some tolerably fashion – instead you burn and freeze your fingers alternately, but c'est la vie. Back at the table the soup has arrived, in its own enormous terrine – I am given a bowl and a ladle. I eat two bowls, wondering if they forgot the tart and if actually I am expected to finish a terrine of soup that would feed a family of eight. Scott's yummy duck has arrived and he asks after my tart. Low and behold the terrine is whisked away – almost with spoon in my fingers – and is replaced with a giant onion tart – it is seriously a whole 9" (or maybe 12") pan that could feed the family of eight's next door neighbors. The whole thing cost 10 Euros and I realize I have a lot to learn about ordering in France. I also screwed up my courage and tried Scott's Duck; smart move, it was delicious.