Bar Tuileries

I wound up here at the hotel bar, out of necessity. It went down like this: Air France flight 0337 left Boston Friday evening at 5:30 pm. We landed in Paris at 6 am. Arriving at the hotel at 7:13, I find, naturally, that my room wasn't ready, which forced some morning sightseeing (the Boy demanded a photo of the Eiffel Tower and by golly he go it) and walk/Metro to Roland Garros.
I arrived on the grounds at roughly 10 am and proceeded to get acclimated, an endeavor which included having Martina Navratilova, the finest, fiercest competitor of them all, sprint by, and watching Francesca Schiavone lose to newly minted American citizen Varvara Lepchenko in three sets. When Schiavone won the French Open in 2010, she was frequently compared to Navratilova (perhaps as much for her wearing her competitive emotions without the pretense of being ladylike as for her aggressive serve and volley).

Schiavone has never been as good as she was when she won, but she is still a compelling figure to watch.

By 3:30 pm (my apologies, 15:30 hrs. I am in Europe), I still hadn't checked into my room and hadn't slept since waking up Friday morning. Upon walking back to the hotel, a quick walk from the Corcorde Metro stop along Rue de Rivoli to Rue de Castiglione, it was obvious I needed a plan: I'm in the greatest food city in the world and don't have the slightest idea of where to go.

The smart move was to regroup at Bar Tuileries, enjoy a €17 mojito (damn!) To go with a delicious beef tartare. Eating the first meal in Paris at the hotel bar may not have been the most inspired choice, but it had to be done for strategic purposes - and it wasn't like I ordered a cheeseburger.