Barbra Austin

The day after dinner at Q-Tea, my dining partner sent me a heavily-researched dossier of Chinese addresses in Paris (this friend happens to be an academic), mostly culled from this blog, but also from the lengthy list of I’ve-always-wanted-to-try-that places he keeps in his head, one of which, L’Orient d’Or, was praised by the mystery blogger and also, recently, by Alexander Lobrano. Done.

I don’t know about you, but I find it reassuring that a place like Le Rubis still exists in Paris, particularly in a high-rent part of town, where one of the hottest places to “eat” is something called a “water bar”.

Le Rubis is a 1930s-era bar à vin that seems to have changed little since then. From the zinc bar to the barrels on the sidewalk out front, it’s a kind of time capsule that would almost feel fake if it weren’t so utterly authentic.

Continue reading at Girls’ Guide to Paris…

I feel like I’m at risk for becoming one of those people who never leaves her neighborhood; who, to the great annoyance of friends, only agrees to do things within walking distance.

You would think, just a few days after returning from Hong Kong, that I’d be interested in eating something besides noodles.
You would be wrong.

I never ate at the first Spring, so I didn’t really have any preconceived notions about what the new Spring would be like.

That’s not exactly true: I have met Daniel Rose, visited the boutique, and read plenty about the old Spring. But with the exception of a superb ceviche whipped up for the Paris by Mouth launch party, I had never eaten anything made by M. Rose until last Friday night.

I’ve said before that I like a restaurant that recognizes its limitations, but before having lunch at Song Heng, you’ll need to recognize your own.

It was a sort of twisted curiosity that drew me to Ralph’s, the restaurant in the new Ralph Lauren shop on the boulevard St. Germain. Fried chicken? A supposedly great burger? A staff trained by Danny Meyer?


I just wanted to see if they could pull this thing off.

It’s such a relief (and all too often a surprise) when the restaurant that every is talking about turns out to be good.

Right now that restaurant is Rino.

Zinc Caïus is the younger, smaller, less expensive offshoot of Caïus, the restaurant across the street where chef Jean-Marc Notelet dazzles diners with his use of exotic spices (for France, anyway) and unexpected combination and techniques. At Zinc Caïus the fare is more straight forward, a pared-down bistro menu for neighborhood locals more than visiting foodies. Yet a meal here is just as memorable as one served by its sophisticated sibling, not because it’s complicated or ambitious, but because it’s so very good.

I can’t believe it took me so long to get to this one.