Paris 66

A unique feature of this blog is the fact that as a college student, I don't have the luxury of going wherever and whenever I want to eat. Consequently, when I do go out to eat at relatively

nice restaurants, I look for someone else to pay. And when I say pay, I mean my parents. While some of it would say that I'm taking advantage of them, I digress. Everyone's needs are filled: My parents get to spend time with me, I get to eat good food, and my dad can regale

me with stories that are thoroughly embarrassing to remember. So after convincing my parents of the semi-legitimacy of the blog, we started planning for our first review. Out of the myriad of choices, we found ourselves gravitating towards three: Eleven (the new restaurant by Big Burrito), Legume (neo-French), and Paris 66 (Parisian Bistro). After several text messages, we eventually agreed to Paris 66.

We entered the small bistro and were ushered to a table relatively close to the kitchen. After ogling the endless types of desserts on display and carefully dissecting the specials, it quickly became apparent to me that my parents, even before entering the restaurant, knew exactly what they were going to order. Even though it was their first time eating there, my dad spent considerable time researching and printing the menu. While this may sound utterly ridiculous, for those who know my dad, anything less would be shocking.

We quickly agreed to order as an appetizer, the tapenade special.

The tapenade itself was splendid. Mom, a newbie to tapenade, found the lack of an overwhelming olive flavor to be a peasant surprise. Above all, the olive spread tasted fresh, acidic, and contained several nice notes of spice, including cumin. But the big letdown of the tapenade was the accompanying carb. Usually, a tapenade is served with freshly toasted baguette. Instead, we were served TORTILLA CHIPS. The problem with the chips that they are fairly salty on their own. By adding a cured-olive tapenade, your mouth is presented with salt on salt. It was a NaCl-fest.

La Pigalle at Bistro 66.

From there we ordered three of Paris 66's specialities, crepes. Mom ordered, in perfect French, La Champs Elysees, (filled with creamed leeks and smoked salmon). Dad ordered, in butchered French, La Paris 66 (ham, Swiss cheese, egg, mushroom). And I went with the La Pigalle (mustard, chicken, mushrooms). All three were fantastic, but I found the La Champs the best of the three. The combination of the delicate salmon with the subtle flavor of the leeks was heavenly. Mom was especially a fan of her side of French onion soup. I, on the other hand, ordered the red bell pepper puree.

The best way to describe the puree is that it was...interesting. And not necessarily in a bad way. The soup was served luke-warm and had a definite sweet note to it. For me, it was sort of listening to a Radiohead album. I really don't get the premise of it, but it is different. And its uniqueness makes it addictive.

After the crepes, we began to discuss our options for dessert. Mom wanted to get the chocolate mousse shown in the kitchen. Dad wanted to get the Grand Marnier crepe. A debate ensued. Watching my parents remain at a standstill over dessert made me empathize with them, seeing that with three boys, this was probably how our household was every night:

Older Brother: I want Chinese for dinner.

Oldest Brother: I can't eat Chinese. Let's make spirals mac n' cheese instead.

Older Brother: But that's all we eat. Its your own fault you can't eat Chinese

Me: I want Chuck E Cheese! I want pizza!

Oldest Brother: Absolutely not. Sorry Peter, some of us have moved up from diapers.

Older Brother: Hey, instead of eating, let's reenact American Gladiators in the living room!

(All three run to the living room, faint smashing is heard)

Mom: Not the couch!

(Dad leaves to porch with paper in hand)

Dad: (grumbling) We should have gotten a dog instead.

Trying to avert a disaster, I vote with mom's more modest choice and go for the chocolate mousse. While we eat dessert, mom becomes nostalgic and reminds dad of their trip to France last year. Dad quietly eats his mousse, obviously wishing he had his flambe. As we finish and head out the door, mom begins to remark on how much East Liberty has improved in the past couple of years. As she points out, "Isn't it great to have a French bistro in East Liberty?"

While some may argue that East Liberty is being overrun by gentrification (Starbucks, Starbucks, and more Starbucks), I personally find it amazing that of all places, the owners of Paris 66 chose East Liberty, rather than some glitzy, affluent neighborhood like Fox Chapel or even Shadyside. As we pass by the ruble of the recently imploded high-rises (making way for a new Target), only blocks away from the new East Side shopping complex, we drive away from a community once self-destructing, now developing into something uniquely new.