Deyrolle! Devout vegans beware...

Deyrolle...taxidermy at its absolute finest!

...not that I would really know.  

Nevertheless, I stand firm that this place is simply stupendous and thus deserving of some really exceptional superlative, even when ranked against all of the other groovy, motif  'magasins' of the 6th arrondissement. 

The space itself is courtly and sleek and comes with a sense of humor. Tiger -maple and glass display cases line the walls and cloak the tables of the second floor, spotlighting a collection of methodically-arranged butterflies and other small-type specie: algae, crustacea and an insect-ae or two.  

And then, tigers and bears and lions and such !

... better than the zoo, which I find terribly depressing, reptile section aside. 

Each piece more masterfully done than the next, I simply couldn't resist a sneak stroke of Mustafa's nozzle, that which preserved a phenomenally credible appearance of moisture, thus conjuring images of an upwardly swooping tongue after a savory snack.  

And then there's the collection of quipster silk-screens... Any one would make a nifty birthday present for a beloved friend with a sense of humor and a good amount of available wall-space. 

And alas, behold the garden section. My mom would have a ball and even I, less the horticulture-type, found myself wanting to make a purchase from the selection of rustic pitch-forks and potting vessels.

Huff. Truth be told, I left the store with a sudden urge to skip home....also hoping that I, too, might one day own an adequately-sized,  Parisian-apartment in which to house a stuffed-zebra...or perhaps an ostrich at the very least... 

Sigh...

Such discipline, such discipline...

I've been caught in a whirlwind. NY, Paris, Istanbul, Paris, bike riding, bike riding, bike riding!

....full-time employment? 

In due time.

so many weeks later...

so many visitors later...

soooo many savory meals later. 

It all makes it so damn difficult to keep up with myself. And That is a hopelessly-me thing, nothing more, nothing less. 

One of my new favorites, Chez Janou...  cutesy cafe meets bustling bistro. Colorful. Loud. Warm & welcoming. A daffy bar tender who throws delicious, garlic-infused olives down on the counter before you have the opportunity to say 'no' to the 45 minute wait. (reservations are wise).

And, so many glasses of wine later, i remember at least this much. Every bite conjures images of a cherubic, Provencal, grandmother... apron and all. 

Heavy, but oh-so-worth it... Heavy, but you mustn't leave without ordering a fresh scoop of their homemade chocolate mousse... Heavy, perhaps, and yet every swallow feels supernaturally light.

tons of fabulous new discoveries...the fat girl in me is back :)

Chez Ramulad and Chateaubriand...i'll do my best to include only the shiniest of pebbles...

That said, lies aside, each dish at Chez Ramulad held a true presence. Perhaps i had lower expectations, seeing as how we ended up there by default, 2 times over... nonetheless, i was, indeed, quickly won over...

A warm lentil salad, served with a toasted, garlic baguette, sprinkled with parsley and smidgens of crisp 'oreille de couchon' (yes'm...pig ear indeed).   Scrumptious, resonating flavors, and Thoroughly satisfied the carnivore in me without simultaneously provoking any sense of intimidation, considering that we were thus far only on appetizers.  Lucky me, my friend let me share his tuna tartar, served in a thin ravioli capsule, swimming in a shallow pool of  delicious, thai-coconut milk. I admit that it amounted to a pretty traditional thai dish, but never ever will i overcome my weakness for coconut sauces. 

Ensuite, a generous portion of meaty scallops, perfectly balanced with a spritzes of citrus, salt and paprika.  

And for dessert: Poached pear: easy but refreshing. 

The ambiance itself: ultra-traditional, perhaps even a tad run-down. No matter, they got me where it counts. I could hardly resist gawking at each and every presentation that made its way out of the kitchen...thus, i will certainly follow the yellow-brick road all the way back to Fauberg St Antoine...

Chateaubriand...three months in the making now. (Take note: a good 50% of Paris' restaurants are closed on Sunday and Monday evenings. Boooo). In any case, I revere any restaurant that changes its menu on a nearly daily-basis. And even though i generally love to hand-pick my very own dishes, I do so admire when a restaurant leaves absolutely no choice to its patrons and instead boldly lays before you exactly what it will. (Wine aside, of course, of course). 

Amuse bouche...amusing indeed = an oyster ceviche= spruce, delicious, fresh. 

Entrée, a chilled pumkin and oyster veloute, served with 'dobblets' of a mascarpone-like cheese. The delicately-creamed pumpkin was subtly sweet upon first touch of the tongue,  but thereafter finished with crisp sea salt flavors...all said and done, perhaps an odd combination but a truly cultivated dish. 

I won't go into great detail about the cod dish nor the lomo course which followed. I enjoyed them at the time but there was nothing especially memorable about either. 

And...dessert! A rich chocolate-mousse cube served over grapefruit fragments in an aromatic citrus soup. End on a high note. 

 

one would think that the kitchen in any french home or apartment would certainly be the center of attention... and so, it never ceases to amaze me that this is not the case in the slightest: 'smidgeon' of a sink, two-burners and a stove if you have a lucky star, counter-space is generally forsaken. 

Yet, happily, the Parisians remain wholly devoted to their beloved dinner parties. 

And so i present you with, a la fois, the modest conditions... and thence the remains...