On the right side of the tracks

Last night, Cecco and I splurged on a lovely dinner at Café Viaduc - a restaurant that reclaimed the space under the old Gare Bastille-Vincennes tracks. My first time at the Café Viaduc was this past summer. My friends Erinn and Bryan were in town and we were determined to find a great place for dinner. So, we turned to Bob. Now, Bob probably deserves is very own entry. No, Bob deserves his very own blog. The man has enough character for ten. As a Francophile, he's lived on and off in Paris for the last ten years. And he's just a waterfall of information -- which is usually accompanied by wandering gesticulations and backwards walking. It's his apartment I'm renting now. And I sometimes wonder whether the hushed lighting and cloudy wrap-around mirrors weren't planned specifically by Bob to make him look fabulous. (Seriously, I look at myself in Bob's mirrors and think "Wow, my skin is glowing!" Later, I'll catch my reflection in a store window and, shocked, think "How did I let myself out of the house like this?")

Anyway, last night mine was a salty white fish pressed with a julienne of courgettes and enrobed in a sheer pastry crust that crackled at the touch. And this all atop a Provençal buerre blanc. It was very good, but the salt really was a touch heavy for my taste. Cecco, of course, only had eyes for a decadent chocolate lava cake with cinnamon ice cream. For my kitty, it's nothin' but the sweets....