10 Common Ordering Mistakes People Make in Paris Restaurants
The other night I was sitting at Le Garde Robe, minding my own business, trying to get down a glass of natural wine. Being seven oโclock, naturally, in addition to being thirsty, I was starving, too.
And the lack of food (and sulfides) must have started affecting my brain because I started thinking about how I often hear tales from visitors, such as when they told a Parisian waiter they didnโt eat meat and shortly afterward, were presented with a plate of lamb. Or they ordered a salad, that was supposed to come with the sandwich, and was actually just a single leaf of lettuce. Hoo-boy, and yes, Iโve made a few gaffes of my own, too: I once ordered a glass of Lillet (pronounced le lait, which isnโt well-known around Paris) and the perplexed cafรฉ waiter brought me out a long, slender glass of le lait (milk), presented with great panache, on a silver dish with a nice doily. Of course, everyone was staring at the grown man who ordered a tall glass of milk. And I donโt think it was because of the starched doily.
Anyhow, I was scanning the chalkboard at Le Garde Robe, looking at the various charcuterie and cheese on offer, and noticed filet mignon, and thought, โA steak is a funny thing for a wine bar to serve, especially one that doesnโt serve hot food.โ Until I remembered what it is in French. And if everyone wasnโt already staring at the idiot at the wine bar, nursing a stemmed glass of milk, I wouldโve kicked myself for thinking thatโs a big, juicy steak. Which itโs not, in France.
1. Mixing Up the Mignons
Mignon in French means โcuteโ. And to my pork-loving friends and readers, that can only mean one thing: pigs. French people think cows are attractive.
So much so, that theyโve even issued stamps with various cow breeds depicted on them. But in this case, a filet mignon is pork tenderloin, not the lean, thick-cut steak that you might be used to.
Which doesnโt explain why Le Garde Robe, which doesnโt have a kitchen, had filet mignon on the menu. Which means I have to go back to the wine bar. Oh wellโฆall in the name of research. Of course.
2. Donโt Order an Apรฉritif in a Restaurant
Apparently, no one orders a kir anymore. (Update: Or maybe so?) A refreshing drink made with aligotรฉ white wine and a dapple of cassis, before I found out Iโm not supposed to drink them anymore (the memo mustโve blown off my porch, or something..) a kir makes a nice apรฉritif on a warm spring or summer eveningโat a cafรฉ. Because I was recently informed that they are no longer in fashion, I suppose itโd be best to cut them out entirely. (And yes, that means the sparkly kir royal, made with Champagne, too. Merde!)
Which brings me to ordering an apรฉro in a restaurant, which is something you very rarely see in Paris. Most people go to a nearby cafรฉ for one, perhaps to sit on the terrace, before heading to a restaurant. So when the waiter asks, โVous desirez un apรฉritif?โ, you donโt have to feel obligated and say, โBien sรปr!โ, especially since a round of four will set you back at least โฌ25 ($36 at todayโs exchange rate), and a round of kir royals is likely to set you back a whole lot more than that. And thereโs likely a fairly good bottle of wine you could get for the same price. Like Sancerre. Sancerre rocks, and if I could only drink one wine for the rest of my life, it would be Sancerre.
3. Drink in only the sights on the Champs-Elysรฉes
It boggles my mind when people come to Paris, and have a soda at a cafรฉ on the Champs-Elysรฉes, then go wild when they get the check. Image going to the most expensive hotel in New York City or Los Angeles and ordering a Coke. Youโre standing on some of the most expensive real estate in the world on that street and youโre going to pay for that privilege if you choose to park your backside in one of those chairs.
If you want to sit there and enjoy the view, fine, order that โฌ8 Coke, and suck it up. (Watch your belongings!) But I advise skipping a drink on that boulevard (and really, you should be drinking wine, like Sancerre, instead of soda in France anyways..), unless youโre really, really thirsty. In which case, hit the supermarket at the end of the street, number #52, to be precise, and grab a beverage there.
4. Fish (a little) for Scallops
I fell for this once, a long time ago in Switzerland, and ordered the escalopes, thinking I was going to be tucking in some fork-tender, round nuggets of under-the-sea goodness. Hardly. Instead, I was presented with a few thinly-pounded pieces of leathery veal. It wasnโt all that bad, in a chewy-meat kind of way, but I was definitely not getting misted with that dewy, salty spray of the sea.
In French, escalope refers to any kind of boneless meat or poultry (and fish, although rarely) that is thinly-sliced and usually pan-fried. If you want those sweet scallops, order the Coquilles Saint-Jacques, a moniker which has been commandeered by Americans as a dish with scallops served in their shell, with a bunch of other stuff mixed in to fluff it up a bit.
In France, though, the term just means the fresh scallops, sold in their shells, which can be prepared in a variety of ways. Just ask your friendly waiter. Without the shells, theyโre called Saint-Jacques or sometimes noix de Saint-Jacques, even though they donโt have any noix (nuts) in them. Perhaps you have to go to a triperie, or a place that specializes in offal to find scallop nuts.
5. Ban the Butter, or Be Breton
I love French butter. Especially the amazing salted butter from Normandy and Brittany. But youโll never find it served with bread, except in upscale restaurants, in Paris. Bread is meant to be an accompaniment to a meal, not a before-the-first-course course, grabbing for the rolls as soon as the bread basket hits the table. And the French donโt pick up a slice of bread and yank a wad off with their teeth. Bread is meant to be eaten by pulling off a mouth-sized piece, and placing it between your lips. Your teeth should not be showing in public when you eat bread. Which is why, as soon as I get in the elevator of my building alone with a fresh baguette, I rip my incisors into it like a savage beast.
Butter isnโt normally spread on bread except in three instances: 1) Salted butter goes on rye bread, eaten with oysters from Brittany or elsewhere, 2) At breakfast, bread is spread liberally with butter, because itโs from the day before and needs it, and 3) With sausage or cheese, especially bleu cheese. Itโs good. Try it!
Waiters are semi-used to being asked for butter by my compatriots, so if you want it and they give you a snarl, tell them youโre from Brittany, a region filled with French people that arenโt as enamored with cheese as they are with butter. So just tell the waiter Jโai besoin dโamann, which is butter, in Breton. I donโt know how to say โI needโฆโ in Breton, so anyone out there who speaks that mystical language is welcome to enlighten me.
6. Donโt Turn Off the Tap
People. The French Middle Ages were ages ago. They havenโt sent anyone to the guillotine since 1977 (erโฆ) and people donโt use rags to clean the streets anymore. (erโฆ.) and yes, the tap water in Paris is fine to drink. It truly is and live to tell you about it.
Just like there is a movement in other places to stop drinking water in plastic bottles, itโs time to cut down on this folly, which is a huge waste of money and resources. (Disclaimer: I buy water only for my espresso machine and for traveling. But to balance it out, I donโt always flush when I go #1, and sometimes resort to other water-saving measures.)
Even though by now youโve probably lost your appetite, by law, in a restaurant in France, if you ask for tap water, they have to give it to you. Sometimes it takes a few times for it to sink in that youโre not buying water, and to get the free stuff, but donโt be bullied. And you know those waiters who you donโt want to think youโre a cheapskate order tap water when they go out to eat, too. (Just like those queens with the perfect stubble and 28โณ waists at Gucci who sneer at you because you canโt afford that โฌ385 shirt. I never feel bad because if they didnโt work there, they wouldnโt be wearing a โฌ385 shirt either.)
Never feel intimidated into ordering a bottle of water, either just because youโre in Europe and you think youโre supposed to, or because youโre afraid of French water. Just say โNonโ to bottled water, in any language.
7. Bring On the Rosรฉ
For some unknown reason, some visitors think itโs very downscale to drink rosรฉ. But much of the rosรฉ in France is pretty good, especially in the summer. And in fact, rosรฉ has overtaken white wine in France and Iโm proud to say Iโve done my part to help tip those scales.
Unlike those sugary pink wines from, well, you-know-where, you will rarely come across a sweet rosรฉ in Paris: few people here like drinking sweet wine. So you can order rosรฉ with impunity and not feel like a cheapskate or a dolt. Heck, I even put an ice cube in mine. Just like they do in Marseille. And Parisians know better than to mess with les Marseillais.
But just in case, I included a picture of a carafe that was served to me in Marseilles last summer, which youโre welcome to print out and carry around with you, like I do in case anyone gives me a hard time about putting ice in mine.
8. When is a salade Not a Salad?
I read on one of those travel bulletin board where everybody whines and complains (Iโm always, like, โDude, get a blog. Itโs awesome!โ), from a furious hotel guest in Paris who ordered a hamburger which the menu said came with salade, andโฆdamn those cheese-eaters!โฆthere was only one leaf of lettuce on his or her plate.
In French, the word salade on its own means lettuce, as in either a head of lettuce, or by-the-leaf. Usually a meal-sized salad is called something like salade Parisienne and can have all sorts of wonderful things on it. Like the salade ลuf mollet, above, with bacon, crisp croรปtons, and a warm poached egg from Le Nemrod, which I couldnโt resist showing you. (You donโt have to print it out if you go there. They know it already.)
If you want a green salad, ask for a salade verte, a simple โgreenโ salad. Which goes ecologically well with that โgreenโ-minded tap water youโve ordered, I might add.
9. Hold the Veggies
Some veg head friends of mine came to Paris and went to a vegetarian restaurant up near Montmarte. The next day, they told me how stunned they were that there werenโt any vegetables on the menu. Yes, being a vegetarian can pose a challenge in Paris, although Iโve seen more and more vegetarian restaurants coming across the radar lately, and cafรฉs and other casual places often feature vegetarian dishes, too.
However in regular restos, some non-meat eaters are surprised when they tell the waiter they donโt eat meat, then are presented with a saladโฆoops, I mean asalade, piled high with ham or bacon. France has an interesting way of categorizing things (and if you donโt believe me, let me tell you about my last appointment at city hall) and at a butcher shop, youโll find beef and lamb, and sometimes pork. Chicken is at the volailler, although in butcher shops, too. But at a charcuterie, youโll find pork products and fresh pork, but you wonโt find fresh beef or lamb, and not chicken. And if youโre looking for horse to eat, youโll have to go to a chevaline.
So if you say you donโt eat โmeatโ, that can be translated in a variety of ways. But just to be safe, Iโve memorized how to say that I donโt eat horse in every conceivable language. (Except in Breton. But I think Iโm safe.)
Hey, whereโs Number 10? Oops, I guess I just made a mistake, too. Okay, so I told you some of my foibles and mishaps in Paris restaurants and cafรฉs. Got any of yours to share, or any to add to this list?
