Note: This post will vaguely resemble "The Hobbit" film (one short story, three parts, plenty of little treasures, minus the hairy feet)
My brother and his fiancée recently announced their engagement. What better place to spend the weekend than the romantic capital of Europe? However on this occasion the future Mr and Mrs Ben Kadinopoulos were not here to smooch along the Champ du Mars. No, they were down to run the Paris marathon - most people just go out for a nice meal - and my mum and step dad and I were here to lend our support.
My brother is a veteran of several IronMan triathlons and Pippa (his financée) too is a keen marathon runner, so they both knew exactly what had to be done to minimise pain and to optimise performance in the crucial 48hrs before the race. Ben had unfortunately had to pull out at the last minute due to illness, but that meant he became "super coach".
Intersections of key kilometre markers on the marathon route and metro lines were plotted on the smartphone; wake up and meeting times were to be noted and adhered to as were (just as importantly) types and times of nutritional intake (for Pippa, not the rest of us. As the host and so judged to be more in the know about such things, I was tasked to find the eateries for the marathon weekend, "Gulp!" But I needn't have worried. In terms of impact on the race I will call the three meals "Bulk", "Balance" and "Bonanza", for reasons that will become apparent. Anyone not doing a marathon anytime soon, don't be concerned these restos are well worth a visit no matter your athletic prowess.
T-36: BULK: Mission: Carbo-cramming to store up enough energy for the exertions ahead.
Venue: Au Père Tranquille, 16 Rue Pierre Lescot (Metro Station: Les Halles, Exit: Porte Lescot):
A word of warning for the uninitiated: anybody wanting to reach this lovely bistro will have to navigate their way through part of Europe's largest metro station. With more possible exits than there are hours in a day, the terrible triumvirate of Chatelet, Chatelet-Les Halles and Les Halles, cause even the most adroit Parisien to lose their cool, their nerve and their way. This is before you have to negotiate the labyrinthine, 4-level building site of a shopping centre. Needless to say I picked the wrong exit and so it was half an hour (and a long walk) later before we finally sat down in the gorgeous, mirror-cielinged, book-lined first floor of Au Père Tranquille.
Menu:
Pippa: Penne a la Chorizo a family-sized salad bowl of carb and wonderfully spicy sausage. - Crepe au Nutella
Ben: Omelette Auvergnant or in Ben's word's "a proper omelette", at least a four-egger stuffed with jambon paysan. - Crepe au Sucre
Moi: Salade de Berger or "has anyone seen my lettuce?" where the salad stuff came a poor fifth place to creamy rounds of chèvre on crispy toast with more jambon paysan and set off with crunchy walnuts - Crème Brûlée
Wine: (none for the runner of course!): A well rounded Côte du Rhône
Service: Easy going with an easy smile. L'addition: Easy going on the wallet too: 52 Euros the lot.
Notes: 1: It is incredibly poor form to crack the top of SOMEONE ELSE'S Crème Brûlée!
2: I swear, the metro sign told me to take that way back!
Mes dammes, mesieurs, Le second course will be with you shortly.
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