Le P'Tit Troquet, which is very small, provided us with our best meal in Paris. It was so good, in fact, that it is definitely one of the top five meals of my entire life. The restaurant is on a tiny little side street in the 7th. Cars can't go down it, so if you take a taxi, they will have to drop you off, and you'll have to walk the rest of the way down the cobblestones to get there. Once inside, you will find the most darling, quaint, almost country-looking little place. It's delightful.
The menu is small and never the same, because they buy the food fresh at the market each day and only get what is fresh and in season. The day we were there was in spring, so all of Paris seemed to be celebrating an abundance of asparagus and wild strawberries. Luckily, these are two things Kelly and I adore. Our meal began with an asparagus-Parmesan risotto. It was creamy, cheesy heaven. I have dreams about it. It was topped with a little lemon zest and chives for a bit of a citrusy zing.
For my "plat", or main course, I had a filet of beef with mashed potatoes. Now, I know this sounds rather common, but I assure you, there was nothing common about it. It came with some roasted spring veggies on the side and some sort of demi-glace sauce. I don't know what they did to these mashed potatoes, but my goodness. I can only imagine the amounts of cream and butter involved. Kelly had a roasted lamb with couscous that was so tender you could eat it with a spoon. She loved it. They served it with a sprig of thyme lit on fire so that it gave off little puffs of herb-scented smoke as you ate. It was like having a little stick of incense on your plate and a very nice touch.
Dessert was equally perfect. I love how in France, everyone gets their own dessert, unlike at home. I had a wild strawberry tart. It was a small shortbread shell, crispy and buttery (of course), filled with tiny wild strawberries. They were raw and just topped the crust rather than being baked inside of it. On top of that was a generous helping of thick, sweet vanilla custard and then a cumulous cloud of whipped cream. If I were on death row, this could have been my last meal. Kelly had her first creme brulee here. How anyone can get through 25 years of life without having creme brulee is shocking, but if you want to lose your creme brulee virginity, there is no better place than this. It was perfect. I am glad my fiance was not with me this evening, as the erotic noises that this food elicited from me would have surely made him jealous. I want to go back to Paris just to eat here. Go! You will be happy too.