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| - Kay had been wanting to hit Paris 66 since her birthday passed, so I belatedly took her there last weekend. Before I pile deserved praises onto the food, I will mention a few problems I had that add up to one deducted star.
1) The tables are too small.
2) The seating is cramped. I can dig communal dining, but this was uncomfortable. The folks on either side of us were literally bumping into me as were the servers.
3) For such an upmarket restaurant, I found it slightly tacky that instead of having a soda fountain, Paris 66 brings diners plastic bottles of whatever soft drink they request. My Sprite container looked terribly out of place on the table, so much so that it almost made me wish I had requested water instead.
4) We were unfortunately seated next to a party of very rude, intrusive, old, monied women who kept interrupting our "intimate" meal to complain about the restaurant. These big-haired, red-lipsticked, leopard-printed hags, who could have come straight from central casting (file under 'in-laws' or 'rich, elderly country club snobs'), were offended that we were served before them despite the fact that we arrived before they did and literally and openly felt that they mattered more than us. After all, they were "regulars" and their husbands were "important." One of them stared at me during our entire meal while occasionally whispering to her companion and pointing her long. bony finger at me. When I smiled at her, she scowled. Did she know who I was and dislike me for my politics? After all, I did get a very real Scaife family vibe from the ladies, but I digress...
Nevertheless, Paris 66's food, while not inexpensive, was flawless to my palate.
Going all-out, we ordered two appetizers: Beef Carpaccio and Fried Artichokes. The shaved meat of the carpaccio was tiled ornately onto the cold plate and was garnished with a basic vinaigrette-dressed salad that clarified the taste buds with its snap. Carpaccio is a bit tricky to consume considering how everything adheres to the eating surface, but the fresh, uncooked proteins made the work worthwhile. I'd always wanted to try this ever since I saw it made on the TV program "Great Chefs," but the piece never showed how a diner is supposed to approach it. Let's just say my butterknife proved useful. The artichokes were facile, breaded, hot fat joy. The large, brawny, fleshy artichokes were steamed sublimely beneath what was a crunchy, almost sweet coating. A serving of greens topped with a creamy dressing embellished the plate and proved refreshing.
Bewildered as to what my entree would be, I instantly jumped on one of the specials of the night in Seafood Bouillabaisse as did Kay. I know, we ordered the same dish! That doesn't happen often.
The bowl was deceptively deep and comprised a very ample serving of an ambrosial stew that hid a menagerie of marine creatures. Shrimp, swordfish, mussels, clams, crab, baby scallops, and Neptune knows what else all bobbed up and down in the murky, yellow brew. Every single morsel (my favorite being the fall-apart nuggets of swordfish) was perfection in terms of taste as well as texture and was everything seafood should be. Once I came to the sorrowful realization that the pieces of meat were no more, I eagerly downed the empty broth like a thirsty viking and used the bread to sop up the remainder.
Again, feeling frisky, we went with 3 desserts, each one triumphant in its own way. An artful strawberry tart was first, a marscarpone cake was second, and a hazelnut cake made for the finale. I relished the hazelnut the most as the moist cake obscured large hazelnuts that were akin to cereal box-prizes. The mascarpone cake was angelic and lighter than helium in every way, its subtle sweetness rewarding slow...easy consumption. The strawberry tart was blessed with an Art Deco spirit that almost prevented us from eating it for fear of destroying its design, but once we broke it down, we found that its beauty was more than skin deep. Speaking of skin, a sugary fruit "roll-up" was its hide and held a milky, buttery filling underneath that itself held a vibrant, ripened strawberry.
Ryan, our waiter, indicated that he was in the prime of his career by providing keen service and displaying Olympian-level social acrobatics and patience even with customers who were less than friendly or polite (I'm talking about the party on the OTHER side of us who didn't thank Ryan for a single thing and ignored him even as he was trying to serve them their dinners. I suppose the phrase 'Money doesn't buy you class' applies.). As we left, he gushingly approached us and asked us which dessert we liked best. I felt as if this young man's heart's desire is to make customers happy, and we did indeed leave happy despite our encounters with the wealthy and uncouth.
P.S. Kay will have to tell you about the macaroons. She took home a dozen or so. Yup. Having a girlfriend is costly, but...she's worth it.
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