Except that haggis is really, really good, dammit.  I’ll freely admit that I sneered at it before trying it.  Wouldn’t you?  Except that, if you’d ever eaten a sausage, it’s pretty much the same crap, except with oatmeal.  Mmh, offal with oatmeal.  Works for me.  Helps if you’re brutally hung over from the night before….

On a side note, I’d been debating the idea of buying a full formal kilt outfit.  After all, if you have even the slightest bit of Scottish heritage, never mind the fact that that part of my family were some sort of slave-clan to either one or two more powerful tribes (depending on whom you ask), whose claim to fame appears to have been putting an opportunistic arrow through the skull of some opposing chieftain after he was betrayed by his butler late one night, it’s really tempting to dress up in a man-skirt and tuxedo.

No, not quite.

Although I could imagine it would be fun to enthusiastically piss off purists by wearing polka dot boxer shorts underneath, kind of like letting on to Scotch enthusiasts that you like to drink single malts with ice (another habit I was roundly disabused of – I’ll freely admit when I am wrong.  Sometimes.)

Except that it’s also a good thing to be able to take a hint, when a kilt salesman, after thumbing through a big book of clan tartans and finding all iterations of your clan’s patterns, just gives you a sad look and shakes his head, muttering something about your ancestor in charge of clothing design being a colorblind retard.

So no kilt, sorry guys.  But I was inspired, really, especially by fine folks like the two gentlemen having dinner at a table near us, in very dignified-looking formal regalia.  They turned out to be German, but enthusiastically expounded upon the absolute acceptability of wearing such gear at “Ze Rabbie Burns dinners in Chermany”.

Right, Kitchin.  Tom Kitchin, the boss, is a hyperactive looking, hyperactively-friendly master chef, who came to our table to serve up the outstanding monkfish in pancetta himself.  In fact, all service was excellent, as much so as the food – including the poor Spanish waitress shivering in these Northern wastes and only letting on after some prodding that she’d really like to be somewhere warmer.   But all staff were magnificent – meticulously attentive, constantly scanning the room for anything amiss, rushing over to refill glasses at the slightest raising of an eyebrow.  Now that’s hard-core professional.  Same goes for the wine selection.

It’s not cheap, but unarguably worth it in all respects.

While you’re at it, have a pre-dinner drink at The Shore Bar nearby.  They may not have any martini glasses, but the place is comfortably old-school, friendly, and typically optimistic about the Scottish weather (like almost all the places we visited, they had tables outside.  At least they had the foresight to equip them with blankets).

78 Commercial Street
Edinburgh, Midlothian EH6 6LX, United Kingdom
+44 (0) 131 555 1755
www.thekitchin.com

Feeling bad?  Good.  Enough of that.

The Canal Saint-Martin is one of these “tips”, recommended as a hipper alternative to the cheesy, Greek-restaurant-filled Quartier Latin.  And while I am the absolute last person to be able to competent to judge what’s hip and what isn’t, on a warm evening the area sure gives off a good vibe.  Slinky, beautiful (and not so beautiful, nor slinky) French teenagers sitting by the waterside, chain smoking, drinking, preparing for a night of menage-à-trois, and whatever else they do give the Quay de Valmy a bohemian, relaxed atmosphere.

Along one of the quieter stretches lies the Hotel du Nord, site of a 1938 film named after it.  It looks a bit like a stereotypical small brasserie/cafe, or at least the outside does – a few chairs and small tables that you will struggle to get two, let alone four people to sit down at, even if you do find a space.  Thankfully, when American friends come to visit, dinner tends to be way too early to be truly cool (and if we’d been cool, we wouldn’t have been able to sit down), so that’s out of the way.  Inside’s not bad, though, the bar’s excellent, and the surly gay 1920s-sailor-type bartender makes outstanding Caipiroskas.  Enjoy one while listening to the drunk, unwashed harridan and her frazzled-looking man-thing rant about some social injustice or other.

The food’s been outstanding on both occasions we ate there – and to his credit, the waiter, despite a bit of waffling over what dessert he liked (give me recommendations, dammit.  Strong words.  Decisive.  Kerfuffling over the menu is why Napoleon lost at Waterloo) was clear on the lamb saddle with pesto and zucchini rings  (yes, onion rings, but without the onions).  The cheeseburger looked good too, the carpaccio was excellent, the spinach/ricotta ravioli got a good bread mopping up (kerfuffling waiter-man was still disappointed that we left a few drops), and while the wine menu had a lackluster rosé section, it was fairly thorough.

Small piece of advice for ma and pa kettle – don’t drop 20 euro bills as tips.  It makes the locals go bug-eyed.

Hotel du Nord
102 Quai de Jenappes
F-75010 Paris, FR
+33 (0) 40 40 78 78
www.hoteldunord.org

The place isn’t big, and while I have not visited during peak hours, I’ve found it to be a relaxing environment to nip into after work for a glass of something, or a bottle of Punk beer IPA (I’m not a beer drinker, so this should be an indication of how good it is.)

For the sports fans, there’s usually some game or another on, and someone will inevitably strike up a conversation as the proprietor fiddles with his prized music collection behind the bar.  The last time, I ended up chatting with an American student who tried to convince me of a French government conspiracy to mute a group of local revolutionaries – fair enough entertainment over a drink.

So, good bar, good drinks, good owner, good place, problem?  No?  Cheers.

4 Rue Caron
F-75004 Paris, FR
+33 (0) 1 42 76 03 77
www.thepuremalt.fr

The whole point of this particular journal was originally to serve as a list of “stuff I like”.  It’s not a page for restaurant criticism or ratings, since (a) critics are lame and add no value to society, and (b) if you have nothing nice to say, don’t say it — my usual snarky comments notwithstanding.

Since Karin and I are fortunate enough to be able to eat out and travel a fair amount, we tend to run across a great number of amazing places.  As a result, people sometimes ask me for recommendations, so rather than racking my addled memory for ideas, I just give them this link.

In that vein, this is a short attempt to create a list of things to check out if you’re visiting / moving to Paris.  It’s not a definitive or complete list by far, nor do I make any claim to describe secret, hip, “in” things.  It is a work in progress, and I’ll add/edit things as I think of them — suggestions are welcome.

Most importantly, you’ll want a good guide, and a bunch of time.

Restaurants & Bars

I’ve made an effort to list all my favorites already.  There are numerous search options.

• By map:  go here and check the map in the sidebar.  Zoom in on Paris.
• By tag:  I’ve tried to do a reasonable job of categorizing places by what I think best describes them.  Click on the category in the tag cloud on the right hand side.  Unfortunately, the map search by tag doesn’t seem to work.
• By location in the title
• By search (top right field) — does not search by category
• By category search (widget at right side)

Most of the places on my list are not that cheap, although there are exceptions.  There are neat wine bars around the city, such as Le Rubis, which charge a song for a glass of wine and a nice heaping place of good meat and cheese.  I haven’t bothered writing about it, as a good friend was chased out by the screaming, vaguely psychotic proprietress after accidentally breaking a cheap Ikea glass – but if you don’t mind the possibility of a bit of local color, go for it.

Another great budget option is to picnic in any of the many parks or on the quays bordering the river — one favorite is this area just NW of the Pont Neuf.  Great on a sunny day, and I really don’t know why you’d bother visiting on a budget when it’s not nice out.  I did an experiment once with some friends, called the €5 wine challenge.  Every week, I’d buy a couple of bottles of red (usually Bordeaux) at a supermarket, ubiquitous in the city, with a limit of 5 bucks per bottle.  We never got a bad one, and some of the plonk was actually more than decent.

Avoid the crappy fast food places like Quick or McDonalds, the city has a wealth of cafés and brasseries that often serve decent food, as well as boulangeries (bakeries) with occasionally pretty decent sandwiches.   Paul is a chain of bakeries that I’m a fan of.  There are also vergers (green grocers) and markets with a wealth of fresh, diverse produce.

If you’re just visiting, go have hot chocolate and macarons at Ladurée (preferably the one on Rue Royale).  The line out the door is probably for the shop, so make sure you’re not waiting for nothing.  The downstairs room is much nicer than upstairs.

Remember that Thursday night is when a lot of people go out.  Lunch tends to be late, starting around 13:00 — most restaurants won’t serve food before 12:30.

Not all the food is good, by far.  But it’s generally a pretty safe bet if a place is reasonably crowded (or, it may just be a tourist trap.  That said, I’ve eaten extremely well even in places with menus in 30 languages outside).  Do try things you haven’t had before.

Hotels & Lodging, Living-Here-Logistics

No clue about hotels.  As far as I can tell, you should be able to find a reasonably central 2-star place for around €100-€150 a night pretty easily.  If you’re on the cheap, check out couchsurfing.  With hotels, as with everything else in this city, sky’s the limit price-wise.

If you’re staying for longer, there are any number of managed apartment sites.  An email acquaintance pointed out Paris Attitude, which seemed to have some decent flats.  Otherwise, have a look at Se Loger, that’s where we found ours.  French laws and contractual issues concerning rentals are too vast to go into, so ensure that you find a good expat site to explain them to you.  Suffice it to say that it appears furnished and unfurnished apartments fall into different categories of tenants’ rights.  As always, inform yourself thoroughly before moving anywhere.

The same goes for taxes, pensions, whatnot.  There are plenty of expat resources out there that can do a vastly better job at explaining how things work than I could.

Transportation

If you’re moving here, you can order a Navigo pass for free (just the card).  Often, employers pay up to half the subscriptions to various transportation offers, involving various zones in Paris’ RATP – bus, Métro, funiculars, and RER (suburban trains) — system.  Paris By Train has schedules.  The national rail system is the SNCF, for anything outside of Paris.   I prefer the RER to buses for getting to/from Charles de Gaulle airport — they get badly stuck in traffic sometimes.  Orly has a connection via RER, from which you have to switch to the Orlyval tram service.

You can also buy a “carnet” of 10 tickets for €12 at any ticket machine in Métro stations (they take credit cards with chips, some accept cash) or from the ticket desks.

The Navigo card can also be used for a monthly or annual Vélib subscription (borrow-bikes that let you take a bicycle from any of a ton of stations around the city) — usage is free for half an hour, then you are charged.  You can also buy 24h or weekly passes at the Vélib stations (you  may need a credit card with a chip, many American cards do not work.)  Biking in Paris is great, just pay attention.  Bike lanes are usually indicated on major roads — in some neighborhoods, you’re allowed to go against the flow of one-way streets.

Taxis are fairly common, but you may have trouble finding one at peak times (rush hour, Saturday nights).  Minimum charge is €5.60, with extras for a fourth passenger and additional suitcases.

Museums

I love the Musée Rodin and the Musée d’Orsay, the former especially in summer when you can explore the sculpture garden.  The Orsay does Thursday night dinners for €55/person in the beautiful old waiting salon of the former railway station (you must reserve) that include a visit to the museum after it closes.  You can get a “passport” to visit both of these at a reduced price.

The Louvre is just huge and amazing, too much to take in.  You will wait in line.  Avoid the crowds of Japanese tourists vying for a picture of the Mona Lisa, it’s not that great a picture.

With all three of the above, I recommend booking in advance.  Check the websites for details.

A smaller favorite museum of mine is the Carnavalet, in the Marais, dealing with Parisian history.

If you’re into militaria, visit Les Invalides.  The entrance to Napoleon’s tomb is around the back — it’s pretty impressive.

The Grand Palais sometimes does exhibitions — some of these tend to be booked out long in advance, some are free.  It’s a very nice example of glass and steel architecture.

Check the hoardings in the Métro — special exhibitions are usually advertised.

Sightseeing & Culture

All the big Parisian sights have been described to death.  Do all the touristy stuff if it’s your first time — Eiffel Tower (get there really early if you want to climb it), the Arc de Triomphe (lots of steps), Montmartre / Sacre-Coeur (watch for scam artists and pickpockets), Notre Dame, Saint-Sulpice, and the Paris river boat tour (bateaux mouches — there are several private companies), they’re all fun.  Don’t listen to anyone who snottily tells you to avoid the “usual” tourist crap.  Hey, you’re in Paris.  Be stupid.

If you’re an architecture geek, La Défense has some cool modern buildings.

A fellow reddit reader posted an interesting resource — Flickr map of photos taken in the city — red dots for pictures taken by tourists, blue dots for those taken by locals.  Draw your own conclusions.

The catacombs are a great visit — I’ve been told by friends who’ve visited some of the many many miles of off-limits underground tunnels that the bits open for tourists are actually the nicest parts.  You will probably wait in line for a while.  Try to get near a big tourist group, as they tend to stick together, leaving you a lot of peace and quiet.  It’s pretty tranquil.  I have some photos online.

Visit Versailles — both the gardens and the castle.  If you’re lucky, you can catch a show in the gardens.  Here is the link to the program and tickets page.  Trains run very frequently from Paris.

One of my absolute favorite things to do is to listen to the organ concerts at Notre Dame.  They’re every Sunday at 16:30, admission is free.  There are also amazing concerts in the evenings — check the previous link for an updated schedule.  You can buy tickets for usually less than €10 at the church entrance.  Make sure you arrive about an hour before the concert starts for a good seat.

Opéra Garnier does sightseeing tours.  If you can swing opera tickets, the box seats are extremely expensive (€150 upwards) but entirely worth it.  Make sure you get the Palais Garnier and not the Bastille opera.  You will have to book months in advance, and be very lucky.  Bring a tux, so you can look like a suave badass while having intermission champagne on the balcony overlooking the square.

Paris has a load of arcades (“passages couvertes“) — indoor shopping arcades from the late 19th century.  They’re as interesting for their architecture as for the weird shops you may find (for example, the area around Bourse is full of stamp and coin collectors’ shops, and the passage just North of it has about 10-15 of them.  A beautiful one is just West of Place des Victoires, on Rue des Petits Champs, just between Rue de Richelieu and the Rue de la Banque.

Arriving by TGV or Eurostar is pretty nifty, if you get here via one of the many Parisian train stations (Gare de l’Est, Gare du Nord, and Gare du Lyon, maybe others) with spectacular vaulted steel arrival halls.  Try to arrive at night, the stations have tinny-sounding loudspeakers that make you feel like you’re in a 1930s movie.  Try not to arrive during big French travel dates.  In fact, try not to get near Paris on big French travel dates.  Just don’t.

Areas and Neighborhoods

These are generally pretty touristy, but also contain beautiful areas that are not too overrun.   You have to find them.

Le Marais is the old Jewish and gay (!) quarter in the 3rd and 4th arrondissements.  Tons of shops, restaurants, narrow alleys, and museums — it’s one of the few areas in Paris open on Sundays, when much of it shuts down for most motorized traffic, but it is also jam-packed with tourists.  A great time to see it is early in the morning, before people start going to work.

Rive Gauche / Quartier Latin — area in the 5th and 6th (the Quartier Latin much more so).  Best to just explore for yourself.

Montmartre, including up from Métro stations Abbesses (go North for some cool twisty streets and areas full of cafés) and Anvers (for Sacre Coeur)

There is a rough quadrilateral described by the Rue Saint-Honoré on the South, Les Halles (which is pretty scummy) on the East, the Blvd. des Capucines / 4 Septembre on the North, and Rue Royal on the West that is full of small shops, restaurants, and bars.  It tends to be a bit cuter and less up-scale.

Nearby, just to the East of Bastille, there’s an area in the 11e full of bars and restaurants.  I can recommend the bit along the 8 line to about Ledru-Rollin.  Wander.

Definitely check out the Canal Saint Martin if it’s a reasonably warm night – that’s where the kids hang out.  Especially the section just South of the Hotel du Nord has a great atmosphere.

Parks & Cemeteries

Père Lachaise is worth a visit.  Entry is free, and if you’re lucky, you’ll meet one of the friendly old coots who give tours for tips.

There are tons of parks around, the most notable and significant ones being the Tuileries, the Jardin de Luxembourg, and the Jardin des Plantes.  If you’re in a hurry, the former two are more worthwhile.  The Place des Vosges is small, but beautiful and old and impressive and all that jazz, but it’s usually full of kids hanging out and smoking in summer.

When it’s warm, it’s also great to hang out along the Seine and in the little park on the Ile Saint-Louis I mentioned in the Restaurants and Bars section above.

There are tons of smaller parks that are hidden away, like the gardens of the Palais-Royal or innumerable small parks in the Marais, as well as larger areas like Buttes Chaumont, Bois de Vincennes, and the Bois de Boulogne, if you’re looking for some greenery.

Safety

Paris is very safe compared to a lot of large cities.  People are used to tourists.  Nonetheless, don’t be an idiot.  Don’t flash jewelry, put your camera away (and if you have a nice DSLR, buy something like a good anti-theft travel strap (this is the one I use — a side benefit is that you don’t have a huge ugly Nikon/Canon logo on your shoulder), be mindful of bad areas (i.e. if you’re walking around Rue Saint Denis or somewhere around the outer 18th/19th at 2 in the morning, something bad may happen).  Don’t leave bags under your table or unattended, etc. etc. etc. — but being the seasoned traveler you are, you know all this.  Right?

Tips for Getting On

Disregard anyone who recommends avoiding Paris in August / early September.  It is not nearly as empty as people make it out to be, you can find parking (and it’s free), the weather tends to be nice, there are not nearly as many people, and it’s generally my favorite time of year in the city.

I humbly implore you, don’t be obnoxious.  Parisians have a sometimes deserved, sometimes unfair reputation as being snotty and arrogant, but I’ve generally just found them to be very high-strung and stressed.  This city moves fast, and people don’t get enough sleep.  Just keep that in mind.  Stay polite, smile (they may think that you are a retard, but that’s okay, they’ll just feel sorry for you and be nice), and don’t take them seriously when they get snippy.  If you run into trouble, throw yourself on the mercy of people, that goes over very well, in general.

Try to speak the language.  Don’t shout.  Don’t whine.  Don’t call waiters “garçon” — in fact, use monsieur/madame a lot.  I’ve mostly encountered Parisians as fairly correct and polite, but as with anywhere, your mileage may vary.  I used to think that New Yorkers ate their young, until I visited.

Try not to dress like a tourist.  Baggy, ill-fitting jeans, tennis shoes, fanny packs, college sweat shirts and windbreakers, backpacks, and baseball caps don’t really work.  The well-dressed Parisian is a stereotype, but with a grain of truth.  If you dress reasonably elegantly (although a lot of kids run around in jeans and t-shirts in summer, you see a fair proportion of slovenly dressers) you’ll be taken a bit more seriously.

Mind the dog shit, there is a lot of it.  Always scan 30m ahead on the sidewalks.  Gaps between cars are especially treacherous.

Please don’t give money to beggars.

Try to find a small map; all kiosks sell very handy small blue books with maps by arrondissement, as well as public transit maps, for a few Euros.  They may not necessarily include all tiny side streets, but you’ll find them far more comfortable than having to unfold a massive map every time you’re lost (which will happen).

Most importantly, don’t over think things too much, and have fun.

Best of all, asking whether you may smoke, California no-smoking nazi ordnance or not, gets you a glass ashtray with one of these cards underneath it slipped wordlessly in your direction by the barkeep:

Supposedly, this dates from former Mayor Willie Brown’s desire to have a place where he could smoke his cigars in all his Brioni-clad corrupt elegance (he really is a very charming guy, and he fixed up the Market Street F line, which makes him OK in my book, his other failings notwithstanding), but regardless of the origins, it’s pretty damn awesome.

Then again, when we were there, a mumbling old drunk sat down right next to us at the largely empty bar and began grunting and snorting and yelling incoherently into his cell phone.  It’s a real bar.

Oh yeah, I lit the bar top on fire once during a friend’s bachelor party, in the course of an amateurish attempt to make whatever-the-hell drink it was that used to keep us well and liquored up during the winter of 2000 (you add a sugar cube to two fingers of Southern Comfort in a not-too-wide wine glass and microwave it; light it on fire, put your hand on top of the glass until you get a good seal, clink everyone else’s glasses while looking like an idiot with a wine glass hanging from the palm of your hand, chug it, replace your hand until everyone’s done, then uncover the glass again and inhale deeply.  2-3 will take out even the biggest alcoholic Welshman, as we found out.)  I still can’t remember the name of that damn drink, but it sure as hell didn’t involve Grand Marnier, and it was unnecessary to spill a lake of the stuff all over the counter after I’d gotten it to finally catch fire.

Tosca Cafe
242 Columbus Ave.
San Francisco, CA, U.S. 94133
+1 (415) 986 9651
www.toscacafesf.com

A good example to the contrary is Harry’s American Bar, where, alas, drinks cost enough to buy a small country, but at least the ambiance is good, the cocktails are solid, the bartenders are properly dressed, and the Cal pennant my grandpappy sent me still hangs next to the doorway.

For all its failings, the United States is a different story.  It is a place where two grown men can indulge in the things that make America great (those being excessive amounts of food, liquor, guns, and stupidly oversized wasteful cars) and, at the same time, not so great.  You see, if Don Draper were alive today, assuming he ever was outside of the minds of a select few acolytes of the American Dream, he wouldn’t be a fatass, whining about how “excessive drinking” over lunch is a sure sign of alcoholism, prudishly banning downloading pictures of nekkid girls at work, and driving a gas-guzzling Cadillac.

No, he probably would be relishing his third martini over lunch before popping a sobriety pill, putting back a dozen hydroponically farmed oysters, and hopping in his electric-nuclear powered Cadillac for some consensual after-lunch nookie with his hot scantily clad but thoroughly empowered secretary.  Because, you see, had the United States not turned into a nation of fat whiners, they would be a nation of mean, lean, future-looking awesomeness.

As it stands, my friend Josh and I had limited means with which to work.  So, no guns, no wasteful cars, no awesome Don Draper future, so within our limited means, we had to make the most of a night out on the town.

That meant Comstock on Columbus Ave., according to GQ magazine (which is still occasionally entertaining and insightful, despite its reprehensible attempts to send me via my French IP to some of the trash its international franchisees come up with) one of the best new bars in the U.S. in 2010.  The bartender looked familiar (from his picture in the magazine spread — had to get through two layers of search engine optimized blogspam to reach that article, dammit) and was friendly about it.

We’d started off with a few martinis at Cafe Tosca, which I inexplicably haven’t gotten around to writing anything about, thus laying the ground work for a night of evil.

Just about.

Comstock is class, with booths, a fire-fueled oven, and a real bar.  The menu is interesting (it changes weekly, so I won’t bother with specifics) and just what you need to complement a lot of drinks, and the wine was half a bottle of something called “drink” or “table wine” (I wish I’d kept the bottle).  It came in a glass jug, replete with hillbilly ring to hold with one finger, and only the finest screw top.

Scratch that, we didn’t order the prix fixe (what the hell is that doing in a bar anyway), but indulged in the various snacks of different sizes.  It was all good, service was fast and great (mainly our first waitress, who kept laughing at our drunken stupid wisecracks, I think we were the only ones in there not taking ourselves too seriously, while her colleague mainly kept eying us like the morons we were.  Are.)

My only bitches about the place are that (a) I’m a sort of an unimaginative purist with cocktails and didn’t feel like trying their mixology, (b) they didn’t have much in the way of mid price-range bourbon, and (c) the damn transom was open most of the night, meaning we were freezing our asses off.  Aside from that, A+, check it out.

Comstock Saloon
155 Columbus Ave.
an Francisco, CA, U.S., 94133
+1 (415) 617 0071
www.comstocksaloon.com

The only food you’re liable to get there is a hot dog, probably with an emphasis on the “dog” part.  There is no telling what they make those with, but if you’re about to spend an evening on the sauce, make sure you get some relish with it.  The sausages aren’t really fit for human consumption, but if you intend to put away a few martinis, they should nicely take care of whatever’s in them.   The drinks are expensive, you probably won’t find a seat at peak hours, the bartender needs a bit of encouragement to even crack a smile (and don’t even dare ask for a glass of wine, although they make great mojitos), it’s loud, inconveniently located, and full of obnoxious American tourists.  But it’s a great bar, and just feels “right”.

The way granddad described Harry’s…sank-roo-doe-noo, he even said it that way, it was a watering hole for American GIs in both World Wars, and the currency, college flags, and other paraphernalia stuck haphazardly all over the walls do it justice.  It has the dramatic patina of a watering hole that’s had many beers spilled on it (and occasionally, the corresponding gentle scent as well), but alas, the Cal pennant was looking a bit ragged when we ended up there.  Granddad sent me a new one, and they put it up without blinking — but only if I wrote his name on the back.  It’s still there.  I love that bar.

5 Rue Daunou
75002 Paris, France
+33 (0) 1 42 61 71 14

www.harrys-bar.fr

Josef, along with its bar, Maria (har har), is a great in-crowd hangout anytime of the week. It’s owned by a group of guys; one of them’s usually found at the bar (pretty cool guy with long hair who seems to remember us, even though I can never place his name for the life of me) and they’ve come up with a nifty concept; they don’t have starters or main dishes, but small-ish dishes of which you can order 2-3 depending on how hungry you are. Don’t worry about what to order, it’s all good. What’s cool too is that they offer both a pre-movie theater menu, and different price combos depending on how many dishes you order.

Personal favorites: the shrimp ceviche, the cava risotto and the mini-cordon bleu. They have Planeta merlot, which is a nice accompaniment. And if you have room, try the chocolate cake, it’s mind-numbingly good. Just wish I’d had room.

Occasionally the service is a bit weird, but never bad, and it can get smoky, but you’ll live, this is Europe. Ask for the chair in the little corner compartment (where the door used to be), it’s pretty romantic.

Josef
Gasometerstr. 24
8005 Zurich
+41 (0) 44 271 65 95

The entryway is marked by a large wooden carriage door (you’ll easily find it by the giant psychedelic fluorescent jellyfish in the shop window to the left) which leads to either the garden way out back, or to the stairs to the upper floors. Nobody picked up the phone, and the waiters & bar staff we encountered seemed a bit, uh, confused as to exactly what we wanted (a table and a drink at the bar while we waited for our table) but once it was cleared up that I’d better directly tell the barkeep exactly what kind of a martini I wanted (don’t you dare pollute good vodka with vermouth any more than you have to) and that we needed to pick up our drinks ourselves, things sorta worked themselves out. Our waiter in the end was nice and friendly, but you can tell it’s sort of an “in” place.

Apparently they project indie movies against the back courtyard walls, and rent out the white salons on the top floor for artsy events, and the atmosphere on the balcony out back was really really cool. We were there on a warm summer night and man, this is what I imagine by living the good life in South America.

They screwed up my order (salmon is not the same as tuna, but in all fairness, it was indicated as “fish of the day” on my menu and “atún” on Karin’s, and I do occasionally forget that, good life or not, this is South America. After all that, it was good salmon. And I got to rib the poor waiter over it all the way through to dessert.

I guess the way to deal with places like this is to do what we did, i.e. walk in like you own the joint and don’t take no for an answer. Confuse them and keep them confused and you’ll have a great evening. The starters (langoustine carpaccio and some sort of baked salmon mousse) were excellent, and while I’ve had better food than the main courses here, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. Except that it was the wrong fish, but hey, even Millionaires aren’t perfect.

Milion
Parana 1048
+56 11 4815 9925

p.s.: speaking of the 647, I’m actually kinda glad it was closed. As I read while leafing through a copy of TimeOut Buenos Aires during an important business meeting, it turns out it’s a couple of British “wide boys” (their words — apparently it means “dudes with a bunch of cash”, although in my neighborhood, a wide boy is something entirely different) who tried to put together something exclusive, super-upscale, VIP, did I mention exclusive (the article did, about 8 times, very fawningly, won’t someone please give them a membership so they’ll stop?)

To be honest, the English seem to have a thing about making themselves feel important by excluding other people from their treehouse club. I’ve seen enough of this “exclusive” juenile limey snob shit in London for one continent, nevermind for el mundo nuevo. Maybe Karin’s right, and I shouldn’t go off on a place before having seen it, but if a restaurant owner lets himself be quoted about how “not just anyone can join”, my republican sentiments go storming off in a huff. Not a place that would want my money, and not one that I really feel any need to give it to.

So if 647′s closed, or they’re being elite and hiding, or won’t let you in the door, go to a place where the facade doesn’t look like Ricky the Ferret is selling boosted TVs out the back door. Try Milion instead; they’re nice people.