simon says french food blog

STARS BETWEEN THE BUILDINGS

By Joe Ray
RAGUSA IBLA, Sicily

A stroll through Ragusa Ibla will shave hours from the time you need to get to know people.

We’ve just had dinner at Pizza Nove. Suffice to say, Ristorante Caravanserraglio retains its Sicilian pizza crown.

We head up to Ragusa Ibla for a walk, stopping off for a completely unnecessary gelato at Gelati DiVini and Francesco orders cups of jasmine and olive oil. (The olive farmer pleases the ladies in our group with edible flowers and does a bit of marketing at the same time - genius!) 

More importantly, how do you turn jasmine - still blooming across the countryside in the Sicilian fall - into gelato? And how do you do it so it doesn’t taste like cheap perfume? This is the place to find out.

We head back into the side streets, staring at the stars between the buildings. Smiling. Present.

Gelati DiVini - MAP
Piazza Duomo, 20
Ragusa Ibla, Sicily
www.gelatidivini.it 

PS - That fuzzy looking thing in the photo of Lex? That's the gelato - she made us go back the next day. And the blissed-out grin? That's the gelato, too.

PPS - Gelati DiVini has a host of other gelato flavors - check out writer and Ragusa resident Jann Huizenga’s take on it here, and read my Boston Globe Giro del Gelato here.

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the 2009 Lowell Thomas Travel Journalist of the Year and author of the blog Eating The Motherland. Follow him on Facebook and on Twitter: @joe_diner.

PIZZA IN COUGAR TOWN

FRIGINTINI, Sicily
By Joe Ray

 

Spurred by a comment from Sofia, I’ve pushed a new Sicilian pizza post up in the schedule!

…

I wish they made pizza in the daytime here. 

Just driving these roads - the Ragusa province’s white, round-topped stone walls and the olive and carob trees behind them - are enough to know this is stunning countryside.

Good luck finding Frigintini - I went pizza hunting with my pal Francesco who grew up one town away and we had to turn around two or three times before finding the town and restaurant, Le Magnolie. I realize the place is in such a small town that to survive, it’s gotta consistently pull people in from the neighboring towns.

Inside, there’s nothing to indicate how they do that other than the ever growing herd of locals wearing those peculiar clothes that make their way down here, often leaving grown women dressing like 16 year olds for lack of options. Welcome to southern Sicily’s Cougar Town.

Nevertheless, the menu is dressed to impress. They’re serving coral colored mushrooms pulled from carob trees and on this day there’s a whole prix fixe menu based around the fungi. We’re here for the pizza, as it’s rumored to give Ristorante - Pizzeria Caravanserraglio (a.k.a. Pizza Nove) and Modica’s Il Contea (Pizza Otto) a run for their money.

F. and I split an order of the mushrooms, stew-like and wonderful, but the real star is the dense bread next to it. Drizzled with a bit of olive oil and downed with a sip of local beer, there’s a wonderful flavor of almonds that fills my mouth. 

“I’ll be that’s from the oven,” says F., “They’ll use almond branches to fire it.”

I plow into the combination like there’s no tomorrow.

Pizza arrives - one proscuitto and rocket and one margherita - and we go quiet, shift gears and tuck in.

The proscuitto alone is worth the trip. Generously layered on and contrasted with the in-season rocket’s fiery snap, the combination is divine. This is destination pie.

“Let me tell you what you’re thinking,” says F.

I look up, remembering he’s there and nod.

“Otto punto cinque.”

Eight point five, indeed.

 

Ristorante Le Magnolie di Macauda Emanuela - MAP
Via Gianforma n.179     
97015 Frigintini Modica     
+39 0932908136     
[email protected]
www.ristorantelemagnolie.it

Follow me on Twitter: @joe_diner and on Facebook.

Bocuse the 1st

By François Simon

PARIS

Paul Bocuse's restaurant, in Collonges-en-Mont-d'Or - (+33) 4.72.42.90.90; count on 120 euros - has something reminiscent of a fading France: a land of milk and honey, mischievous, kind and good-natured. Last Saturday, while the country shivered with cold, the dining room softly shimmered with warmth. An inimitable atmosphere, like an old Gabin film in black and white with foie gras and a damsel wearing back seam stockings. That said, Bocuse's restaurant is bursting with color. It's like an obsessive incantation against ossification and gloom, a phobia of emptiness and of all things dreary. All the gaps must be filled with color, like children do in a coloring book. Even the ceiling has something of a circus dome. From all sides, objects seem to call out to you, the way TV audiences used to back in the days. Even the salt and pepper shakers are adorned with a statue of the Commandatore. Paul Bocuse, monsieur Paul, arms folded over his chest.

Bocuse is our General De Gaulle of gastronomy. Our pope. He's going on 84, and still runs a very tight ship. As for the food? Well, you don't go to Bocuse's to sample dishes with your little finger up in the air, you come to feast upon France's history and nothing less! Admittedly, the Maine lobster salad (not from France's Maine et Loire, but from North America, which surprising coming from this defender of French tradition, whose pajamas we imagine edged in the colors of the flag) is a bit static with its mixed vegetables à la parisienne (it was posing); however the roasted pigeon that evening was better than good. It was first class and as easy to cut as a paper figurine with scissors. If the wine you've chosen is up to standards - I was alone with a half bottle of Côte Rôtie - the restaurant takes on a whole different resonance. The cardoon gratin is benevolent and the four desert tables end it all on a high note: mind-blowing vanilla ice cream (creamy-smooth like your beloved's kiss), the chocolate cake was a bit stiff with not much to say for itself (too cold, I imagine), a magnificent île flottane.

But Paul Bocuse's restaurant is grand when the customers have gone. A lot of local names, the bourgeois and their ladies, but also Lyon natives with their unique accent, their unctuously cocky humor. They are in the room with the fireplace, though those who want to be seen prefer the rotunda. It matters little, actually, they have all come to film memories, hang up a canvas in the corner of their minds, and hurtle down the disarming stairs of the "grande tradition classique" menus. As we know, no one lives forever and with Paul Bocuse, we are lucky enough to have a living century of good humor, of French cuisine at its most irresistible, undeniably dated (that's a good thing), sauceboat dishes… So what? Face it, in a decade we'll be hitting our foreheads and pronouncing that pathetic refrain: if only we'd known... So, get a move on and go grab a bite of our heritage. Dine at Bocuse's. You won't leave unmoved. Deliciously dated service and kindness orchestrated by François Pipala, who sums up the bliss of the place in his smile.

L'Auberge du Pont de Collonges - 40 Rue de la Plage - 69660 Collonges au Mont d'Or - Tél. : (33) 04 72 42 90 90 Web

MEN MISSING THEIR MOTHERS

By Joe Ray
MODICA, Sicily

Lexy will be the only woman in the room when we sit down for lunch, but I’ll wait to tell her that until after we’re through the front door.

There’s no reason to know there’s a restaurant there and no name on the outside of the building - just a misleading circular sign that says ‘BAR.’ Cucina Casalinga Benevantano (“Beneventano’s home cooking”) - is a name used mostly to have something for the phone book and the business cards.

Inside, you might get a curious glance or two if you’re not a regular, but you’re welcome just the same. The sign on the wall opposite the TV no one watches tells you all you need to know - starters, pasta and meats all within the five to ten euro range.

There are about twenty items, from chickpea or fava bean soup, ricotta ravioli with ragu, perfect lamb stew and, aside from the addition of tripe one or two days a week, the menu never changes. This is daily food made for the local crowd and a primer on homestyle Sicilian cuisine.

Maybe all the men in here just miss their moms. 

Cucina Casalinga Benevantano - MAP
Via Nazionale Modica-Ispica, 155/a
Modica
+39 0932 771250

Closed on Sunday.

 

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the 2009 Lowell Thomas Travel Journalist of the Year and author of the blog Eating The Motherland. Follow him on Facebook and on Twitter: @joe_diner. 

BACK IN THE MOTHERLAND: THE CRY OF A CANNOLI CONVERT

MODICA, SICILY
By Joe Ray

Upon Lexy’s arrival, I looked to convert her as quickly as possible. Either that, or I just didn’t want to eat cannoli alone.

Pierpaolo Ruta, who owns and runs Modica’s venerable Antica Dolceria Bonajuto came out to say hello and had some very good news in the form of a question.

“How did you know to arrive when the cannoli shells are still warm?”

My knees buckled a bit and I put two fingers in the air as the form of an across-the-room order. The shells were, indeed, still warm.

In a form of full disclosure, I know Pierpaolo, who put the cannoli in our hands so I’ll leave any sort of review to Lexy…

… A few nights after visiting Bonajuto, we drove toward Ragusa, the highway crossing a towering bridge with a jaw-dropping view of Modica with its homes and churches clinging to the valley wall. I expected a gasp from Lexy and a nostalgic cry of the city’s name.

Instead, three syllables, the cry of a convert: “Ca-noooo-liiiii!”

Antica Dolceria Bonajuto - MAP
Corso Umberto I, 159
Modica
+39 0932 941225
www.bonajuto.it

Follow me on Twitter: @joe_diner and on Facebook.

My Debatable Fondness for the Armani Caffe

By François Simon

PARIS

I was going to say, "I know this place by heart," which is oddly untrue because I should, actually. But I've got a feeling that my liking for the Armani Caffe probably irritates some of you. Too expensive (I'll grant you that), too many spoiled brats (ok, we could add too many spoiled parents), too much bling and that's not all!

So what? I like it when a place is a bit "too much" because you can never get enough. Having said that, the dishes are rigorous, frequently good and I am nuts about their ice cream. They serve it like "crème glacée,"slightly soft, not hard as a rock. The wines are convincing. So much so that if I ever get squashed on the boulevard, you'll know why.

For the time being, I managed to make it to the opposite sidewalk with overwhelming literary enthusiasm; the next morning, I discovered a huge bag from La Hune bookstore on the table. What was in it? The latest Pascal Quignard ("La Barque silencieuse"), Hiromi Kawakami ("Manuzaru," edited by Piquier; I loved the previous books, "The Teacher's Briefcase" and "The Nakano Thrift Store"), Laurent Mauvignier ("Des Hommes"), Bernard Chapuis ("Le Rêve entouré d'eau") and Yannick Haenel's latest: "Jan Karski," devoured in just two days. And a book by Jules Renard.

Armani Caffe : 149, Boulevard St Germain, Paris 6‎. Tel :+33 1 45 48 62 15 Map

Alleno: Back to the beginnings

By François Simon

PARIS

Fame is a curious ingredient, probably one of the most devastating in a chef's spice rack. It instantly fixes you in a kind of media-jelly, like the famous egg in aspic. It swallows you whole, keeps you in a glass case. Picture a snow-globe: the chef inside, paralyzed by his (or her) talent, glazed with amazement… And the Michelin stars seem to fall like snow.

You're familiar with these recently-minted star chefs. They are happy, but impossible and sadistic with their managers. They do exactly as they please and the ensuing ego trip leads them astray – sometimes far from their own kitchens. Stardom seems to carry them away, it could keep them there occasionally, like a day-care center. I believe Yannick Alleno,from the Meurice, spent time in that gastronomic wilderness himself. I seem to remember it affected the quality of his cuisine and pushed his admirers to step back. It's the best way to go, actually. Let the foam settle.

When I went back to the Meurice the other night, it seemed the soufflé had settled and that the dishes' magic gusto had returned- something Christian Millau taught me about. He calls it the "drive." It's a sort of magic movement - FAR FROM a pose - a dip of the skillet, a backhand stroke of the saucepan.

A dish should never be static. Even sushi, when it's sliced under your very eyes and served immediately, experiences this fleeting state of grace: the fish imperceptibly settles, then stops moving. It has lived … well almost ... you must then eat it: reincarnate it in your oral cavity.

ON MY RETURN, Yannick Alleno's cuisine had that sort of poetic magic: a scrupulous first course which hypnotically covered the plate's discus surface. It was an arrangement of bouquets served raw with sea urchin SECTIONS, jellied turnip broth and shiso leaves. The broth wonderfully juggled an incongruous array of shrimp legs, a tiny crunchy act.

Then, under the good omen of a glass of Saint Joseph red, the Peking hare with sweet lemon arrived, larded with Colonnata and accompanied by cocoa ravioli stuffed with pea purée.

When the dishes produce such a thunderous boom, the desserts have a tough time working their way into the spotlight. They enter stage singing their own tune, but they're always a beat behind.

A smiling Wilfried Morandini tactfully conducts the dining room. Gorgeous marble finishings, well-studied lighting... The customers seem very fond of their food, which is a welcome change from the usual mummified crowd of worshippers. It is worth noting a beautiful book on Alleno, published by Glenat, with striking photos by Roberto Frankenberg and a text by Kazuko Masui. She has had 2 important intuitions in her gastronomic life: Joël Robuchon et Yannick Alleno...

The bill is steep, unless you stand on the brakes - 350 euros for two.

228, rue de Rivoli, 75001 Paris. tél. : 01 44 58 10 10 Map Web
 

HALLOWEEN IN THE MOTHERLAND WITH THE WOLFMAN

Fueled on gelato and strong espresso, I take a sunset run through town and down into the canyon. Past the chapel dug into the canyon wall and west toward Modica. Nobody but the goats go beyond the shepherd’s farm.

I forget how wild it is out here. There are pomegranate plants, boughs bent with plump, almost-ripe fruit, wild herbs, particularly a form of sage that’s got a near-fruity smell and cactus full of prickly pear are everywhere. Dried carob beans litter the ground, thistles dot the trail and an owl-like bird I’ve never seen flies out of the trees and toward the sun.

I come to my turnaround point, legs nicked from the thick, high tufts of grass and turn on Green Day. The right music makes you feel like you’ve got rockets on your feet. I go as fast as I can the whole run home, thinking I’m going to lose it on a rock and they’ll hear the pop of my ankle echo down the canyon. Instead, I grunt, snort and make animal noises all the way back - who’s going to hear me? It’s the best run of the year.

Past the shepherd’s place, I pass a teenage couple, the air thick with hormones and perfume.

Staring at me, she shrieks “L’uomo lupo!” 

Wolfman! 

I howl obligingly.

Back in town, the sky purple after the sunset, noisemaking fireworks detonate in the air. Pigeons scatter into the air and school kids in uniform play soccer in a church square. A pair of widows dressed in black walk toward me and say good night to each other and turn in opposite directions, giving the scene an unintentional symmetry.

I’m back in the Motherland. It’s time to eat.

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the 2009 Lowell Thomas Travel Journalist of the Year and author of the blog Eating The Motherland.  Follow him on Facebook and on Twitter: @joe_diner.

 

 

VICTOR - MANY HAPPY RETURNS

By François Simon

PARIS

 

It's funny, I've been here before ... have I told you about it? Victor is well done and warm, with a bistrot-style menu. My friends and I discovered a fantastic blood sausage pastry and a fine “onglet” steak. A delicious interlude with a few good bottles (a Croze-Hermitage from Graillot) and rather sexy clientele! If I lived in the neighborhood, I think I'd come on a regular basis. Victor has also just opened a similar place called Felix (99, rue Jouffroy d'Abbans, 75017 Paris; +33 1.42.27.26.16).

Victor MAP
101 bis, rue de Lauriston
 75017 Paris
+33 1.47.27.55.07

IN BRUGES: THE END OF THE BEER REPUBLIC

By Joe Ray
BRUGES



Last blog in Belgium Beer and Fries week! (Or was it ‘Brussels Beer & Fries’?) No better way to end than a final round or two in Brugges...
...
Thanks to our great B&B’s beer selections, a belly full of Brussels’ best (where I confirmed I’m more of a gueuze and lambic guy than a Trappist type) and a short time frame, we only sipped suds on the town on one night.

We’d been tipped off that Lokkedize was the spot people from town go to hide from the tourists and found that though there isn’t an enormous selection, beer is the drink of choice. On this night, there’s a great Straffe Hendrik from the town’s Brouwerij de Halve Maan. The food, though it didn’t look like anything to write home about looked like a good, inexpensive option.

Heading back to the B&B, we walked in front of De Republiek, a bar with just the right amount of people, just the right amount of light, just the right amount of noise and a great beer list. Somebody by themselves could come into this big space without feeling self conscious and a group of friends could enjoy a conversation without shouting. We looked at each other and went in without a word.

The beer list was good enough to have Boon’s Oud Gueuze - a beer that’s been barrel aged for a few years then put in a bottle and stored for a few more. I had one (33 oz.) then another (25 oz.). What can I say? It was my last night in Belgium.

Before we left, I took a sniff and a sip (both deep). I could come up with a set of descriptors, but it was better than that. It smelled good. It made me smack my lips and smile. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but I said, “This is pretty perfect.”

It was.

Lokkedize - MAP
Korte Vulderstraat 33
8000 Brugge
http://www.lokkedize.be/bistro.html
+32 (0)50 33 44 50
The front of the menu says both “Hard to find and worth the discovery” and “We appreciate cash.”

De Republiek - MAP
St. Jakobsstraat 36 Bruges
www.derepubliek.be
+32 (0)50 34 02 29

Beer fans - continue your reading here with my Boston Globe story, Stalking A Wild Brew and Bottled Brilliance in Centurion Magazine. Cap it off with the beer & fry blogs from this past week.

IN BRUGES: LOLLING IN THE COACH HOUSE

By Joe Ray
BRUGES

Finding good accommodations online is as fun as buying a plane ticket. In Bruges, where seemingly every other business is a hotel catering to the legions of tourists who descend on this place in the warmer months, it’s particularly intimidating.

To avoid losing a day, I give myself 15 minutes and a budget, opening tabs left and right off of the helpful brugge.be Web site and doing a quick process of elimination. God bless the off season - I’m now two for two at finding great B&Bs in Belgium.

The full day we’re at ‘t Koetshuis - the one you’d imagine spending all day wandering around one of Europe’s most beautiful cities? Well, the little guest house has a bath, a patio that looks out onto a canal, a fireplace, a big couch and a huge selection of beer; we spend most of the day lolling around, not feeling like we’re missing out at all.

I also like that it’s a pair of professionals - two child psychologists - running the place. Clearly, they don’t need to be doing this, but they’re generous with their time and have plenty of good recommendations for where to go in town.

Next time I’m here, booking will consist of one phone call.

‘t Koetshuis MAP
Sulferbergstraat 38

Bruges
+32 (0)50/348.867
www.gastenkamer.be

One suggestion: go with friends or family: the guesthouse has two rooms upstairs and a the common room (with the fire and the kitchen) downstairs. If the other room was occupied by people you didn’t know, I could imagine the lolling around part being a little awkward.

Follow me on Twitter: @joe_diner and on Facebook.

IN BRUGES: I TURNED AND THERE HE WAS...GONE!

By Joe RayBRUGES

The idea was to do a Belgian blog a day until it’s over (it’s almost over), but one or two of you may have noticed that ‘404 Not Found’ notice on these pages 24 hours ago. As my good friend Jerry Romano likes to say: “I turned and there he was...gone!”

Without further ado, it’s time for dinner in Bruges.

...

There’s a bit of sticker shock when you get here - your eyes go wide when they gaze up the beauty of the architecture and stay wide when they look down at the prices on the menu. The price of UNESCO status, I suppose.

On a tip and without much time to choose - they’re early eaters up this way - we head to De Wijngaart, just outside of where most visitors stray. The restaurant stays smart and honest in a town catering to so many out of towners that you have to watch your step.

It’s a treat to watch the guy at the grill which is cleverly placed at the center of the tiny dining room; his heat tolerance must be legendary in these parts. With stubby red fingers, he uses a long-handled cinder rake to move coals under the grill, giving him great heat control. It’s a very clever system.

What I also like is that while you’re eating your entrée, the grill man’s got your cut coming to room temperature, instead of going from the fridge to the flames.

One tic: the waiter asks if I want my steak medium rare, I say ‘rare’ and it comes out medium, but it’s still good enough that it doesn’t matter.

We also have a salad using bacon that’s grilled right next to my steak that’s worth it just for the salty goodness of the meat.

Dessert? Too sweet.

We eat it with a smile.

How much? We did some creative ordering, had a few beers and got out of there for 20 euros a head. Hungry eaters should count on about 30.

De Wijngaert - MAP
Wijngaardstraat 15
Bruges
+32 050 33 69 18
www.wijngaert.com

Follow me on Twitter: @joe_diner and on Facebook.

BRUSSELS BEER & FRIES WEEK! PART SIX: GOOD (FRY) HUMOR

By Joe Ray
BRUSSELS

I love this kind of place: old, out of the way and authentic. La Bonne Humeur is a spiritual cousin to the American diner, right down the splotch of Formica worn white by the thousands of Dutch ovens and plates set in front of every seat.

What’s cooking? Millions of mussels, a google of frites, too many Jupiler drafts to remember!

Here in the house of moules et frites, the offerings do not disappoint. The mussels are magnificent. What appears to be important is not which sauce (marinière? Green peppercorn?) but that you pause to spoon some of the buttery, fennel-y goodness up from the bottom and pour it over the top.

The fries, part of my five consecutive meal fry extravaganza, cause the group buffoon to shout “McDonalds!” when he first tastes them - which made me want to hit the dirt in case knives came flying from the kitchen … even if there’s a grain of truth to it. ‘McDonald’s in heaven’ is much more appropriate.

The clever can save money by ordering smaller numbers of bigger portions. Three larger portions - they are ordered by the kilo or kilo and half - are plenty for the five of us, buffoon included.

Count on about 30 euros and, as it’s in a funny neighborhood and not too close to a Metro stop, take a cab. 

La Bonne Humeur - MAP
Chaussée de Louvain 244
Brussels
+32 02 230 71 69

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BRUSSELS BEER & FRIES WEEK! PART CINQ: SUDDEN DEATH IS PREFERRED

By Joe Ray
Brussels

My word, what a mess.

The "If You Go" recommendation from my Globe lambic story that said "Skip the food, have a drink and move on" was more accurate than I thought.

A La Mort Subite - French for “sudden death” - is a Brussels landmark bar and restaurant, replete with scores of beer and a beautiful hall for quaffing.

Disasters on this scale are tricky to explain, so let's stick to the facts.

I joined a group of fifty for dinner - we had the upstairs hall to ourselves, a bit too exclusively. Though one guy ran the occasional tray or two of beer up the stairs, here was one waitress assigned to us. One.

She was heroic in her efforts, but at the end of the day, she was all alone. For most of us, it took two hours for our food - salads and omelets - to arrive.

As a restaurateur who has likely known for weeks that a group of 50 is coming for dinner, how do you screw up that badly? If feeding 50 people à la carte (as we did) is beyond your capacity, why not say so and propose another option? Why not make sure you have the staff to keep the beer flowing and the food moving? Why not have the chef chop up a few tomatoes ahead of time?

At the one hour 45 minute mark, I looked over at a friend who had an expression on his face that said, ‘shoot me.’

“You’d better write about this,” he sighed.

A la Mort Subite

Rue Montagne-aux-Herbes Potagères 7
Brussels

+32 (0)2 513 13 18
www.alamortsubite.com

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BRUSSELS BEER & FRIES WEEK! PART QUATRE: FRY ME A RIVER

By Joe Ray
BRUSSELS

Part by design, part by chance, I had fries at five meals in a row in Brussels, including one breakfast.

This might rile some feathers, but what’s funny is that the Bruxellois don’t seem terribly picky about their fry stands as long as their frites are done right: fried once to cook them through, then a second time to crisp up the edges at a hotter temperature.

My two faves come from dedicated places outside the center, often surrounded by pimply students who make lunches out of fried meat sandwiches called mitraillettes – pure roach coach grub ‘machine guns’ topped with a few fries and drowned in the sauce of your choosing. Let your eyes alone do the feasting.

The fries, however, are thick, stubby, soft, crispy and salty - the kind of things that have you walking along, gazing up at the city and chuckling to yourself, thinking ‘I’m eating fries in Brussels’ as you pop another another in your mouth.

Two notables:
Friterie de la Place de la Chapelle - MAP
Place de la Chapelle
Brussels
First ones I had on this trip. Breakfast, bien sûr!

Friterie de la Barriere - MAP
5, Avenue du Parc
Brussels

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Horn Toot! Old Delhi Street Food

One for the shameless self-promotion department: Joe Ray's Old Delhi street food story featuring blogger Pamela Timms ran in today's Guardian - click here to read it. 

BRUSSELS BEER & FRIES WEEK! PART TROIS: BEER'S MOEDER SHIP

By Joe Ray
BRUSSELS 

Last year, one of my favorite, accidental and off-the-map finds was Chez Moeder Lambic up above the wonderful Parvis Saint-Gilles. This year, I herded the cats again, this time to the Moeder Lambic’s new downtown outpost - Moeder Lambic Fontainas - with 46 beers on tap.

It was empty.

“Sometimes you don’t have to go to the perfect place,” says the group buffoon. I wanted to punch him in the nose, only partially because he was right. Nothing deflates my balloon like bringing a gang of foodies to a place that looks like it might be a dud.

Au contraire.

Despite the relatively flashy look - at least compared to their, er, Moeder ship - selection and service are impeccable. There are scads of Cantillon beers on tap (MMMM!!!!) and even the younger members on the staff know their product cold. Even the buffoon can’t flap our waitress. Compared to what’s available in the center of the city, this is a great addition.

Beer fans - continue your reading here with my Boston Globe story, Stalking A Wild Brew and Bottled Brilliance in Centurion Magazine.

Moeder Lambic Fontainas - MAP
Place Fontainas, 8-10
Brussels

Follow me on Twitter: @joe_diner and on Facebook.

BRUSSELS BEER & FRIES WEEK! PART DEUX: WITHDRAWAL SYMPTOMS

By Joe Ray
BRUSSELS 

Somebody sunk serious money into this place and I suspect they’re much richer for it. If you want an authentic Brussels experience, this might not be the place, but if you want a good time with a stellar beer selection, Bob’s your uncle at Delirium Café.

Scanning the Guinness World Record beer selection - 2,000 kinds of beer! - we start with a faro from Lindeman’s - sweet, tangy and kind of Smith-Brothers-cough-drop-y. Not for the faint of heart, but big fun. The ‘café’ gets its name from Delirium Tremens - the Belgian beer whose name, roughly, means ‘the shakes you get from alcohol withdrawal.’ It would be hard for that to happen here.

For our second round, the group gives me free reign and, feeling nostalgic for the beer of former interviewee Armand Debelder, I order a vintage oude gueuze and an oude kriek from 3 Fonteinen: - both kept in a temperature-controlled walk-in cooler behind Delirium’s basement bar.

I’m with El Bulli sommeliers Ferran Centelles and David Seijas and on first sip of the gueuze, they pucker and screw up their faces before saying. “Wow...wow.” The kriek is a curiosity, but the gueuze is true discovery for all of us.

Motivating a group of sommeliers and getting them to try something new can be like herding cats, but I love sharing that moment.

Delirium Café - MAP
Impasse de la Fidelité 4A
Brussels
+32.2.514.44.34
http://www.deliriumcafe.be
P.S. - Pick your visiting times carefully - this place is a zoo on a busy night.

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BRUSSELS BEER & FRIES WEEK! PART 1: REMEMBER THE FUNK

BRUSSELS
BY JOE RAY 

Back in Brussels, I quickly note that this is the trip where my eyes are still wide open, but the pieces of the city begin to connect.

Back at La Brocante, a beer bar I visited last year, I notice that this year, the deer head on the wall has a cigarette in its mouth and put a finger on one of my favorite things about this town: the inherent funkiness. Even the popular Jupiler is an acquired taste that makes equivalents like Kronenbourg, Budweiser and Estrella Damm taste like ultra-pasteurized wimp.

I let the waiter steer me toward a beer called Floreffe, a Trappist triple with apple compote, smoke and some wonderful, nose-in-a-brewery smells.

On this day, with the flea market outside, there’s a band - Le Jeu de Balles - crammed into the space between the front door and a beer cooler. The guy next to me appears not to have left the premises since I was here a year ago. Another dude walks in wearing ski googles, followed by an older woman in heels and fur.

It’s good to be back.

Café La Brocante - MAP
Blaesstraat 170
Brussels
+32 (0) 2 512 13 43

Click here to read my 2009 Belgian beer story, “Stalking A Wild Brew”

Follow me on Twitter: @joe_diner and on Facebook.

ON THE ROAD IN PARIS

PARIS
By Joe Ray 

The pre-meal e-mail back-and-forth went like this:

Me: For dinner, I want to start with cured herring on potatoes with a beer, followed by andouillette (tripe sausage) with some good wine.

Anne: MMMMMMMMMM!!!!

These are the friends you hang on to.

Dinner at Les Routiers had been pushed back several times, but was worth the wait. It’s the kind of place favored by Le Guide du Routard: a substantial meal, gentle prices, a little rough around the edges. There’s a giant zinc, assorted kitsch on the wall including a giant Georges Brassens head shot and a surly waitress.

Appetizers are a bargain and could be a meal in themselves. My herring and beer are just as they should be and Anne’s ‘figs stuffed with foie gras’ turns out to be a salad ringed with the figs - dried and fantastic - the salad is generously crowned with charcuterie not even listed on the menu.

The mains, on the other hand, are exactly what it says on the menu: my andouillette sits alone on the plate, reminding me of an infamous French dessert called rêve de jeune fille. Anne's roast lamb is just that - no thought given to the presentation, but with a crust this crispy and interior this juicy, it doesn’t matter. 

Dinner with wine, whether or not you get the prix fixe menu, will run 40-50 euros per person.

Restaurant Les Routiers – MAP
50 Rue Marx Dormoy
75018 Paris
+33 1 46 07 93 80

Food and travel writer and photographer Joe Ray is the 2009 Lowell Thomas Travel Journalist of the Year and author of the blog Eating The Motherland. Twitter: @joe_diner.