December 29, 2011

Paris. December 29, 2005

My birthday lunch. At Bofinger, a restaurant that I’d wanted to eat at for about 40 years. Why? Because it was featured in a college French class textbook in a conversation between Pierre et Philippe, two young hommes who began each of the lessons with some adventure. “Au restaurant” included Pierre’s suggestion that they eat at “Bofinger, 5 Rue de la Bastille,” and, sure enough, that’s the correct address. Polished brass, dark wood-paneled walls, a leaded-glass ceiling that domes the more formal main dining room. Upstairs, where Nick and I were seated, Bofinger shows its true colors as a real brasserie, serving up mountains of shellfish as a way to begin. We had a selection of oysters and some lobster, saving room for choucroute garnie. (Didn’t Pierre and Philippe have that, too?) A platter of warm, flavorful sauerkraut garnished with a generous assortment of several kinds of sausages, hams, chops, potatoes. A wonderful birthday memory, and we agree with P&P that “on y mange très bien, paraît-il.”

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