The European Tour: Le Castiglione, Paris

Le Castiglione, Paris...A swing and a miss...

RESEARCH IS THE LIFEBLOOD of any journalist and on Day 2 the recommendations started coming in. Steve Tignor, who writes the Concrete Elbow column for Tennis.com and does terrific features for Tennis Magazine, suggested Au Moulin a Vent for a “good, bloody Chateaubriand.” At the TV compound at Roland Garros, there was talk of this joint that only served French fries and steak. No menus. You walk in, tell them how you want your steak cooked, and that, along with a homemade green spicy pesto sauce, is that.

The New York Times, obviously aware I was in town, offered a piece on the latest, greatest gastronomic craze in Paris: food trucks (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/06/04/world/europe/food-trucks-add-american-flavor-to-paris.html?_r=1&pagewanted=all). Yes, food trucks, like the ones from Temple University - but Temple didn't sell 10-euro cheeseburgers.

I settled for my own internet research and a highly rated choice was Le Castiglione, in the first district next to the hotel, in fact right across the street on Rue Castiglione. Castiglione, yes, yes, that name rings a bell.

Castiglione. Even in Paris, the Red Sox haunt me.

Le Castiglione (235 rue St. Honore, Paris, France) was a nice place with, like most European spots, a stylish outdoor terrace. Being directly across the street from the French-free Westin, it held promise as a late-night choice. http://www.tripadvisor.com/ rated it four of five stars (47 reviews).. Le Castiglione also had carpaccio on the menu, which is of course, a must. Was it to be, that the research would pay off, and that on consecutive nights, positive experiences would be had? Was it to be, simply, that the food in Paris was so good that you could, literally, fall out of bed and eat well?

NO...!
NO...!
NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!


Let's first say this about Le Castiglione: the bartender made one terrific mojito. He muddled the mint with so much force it shook the restaurant, and I was the better for it. The carpaccio was solid, though not as thinly sliced as it should have been - but solid.

In Paris, the restaurants have monogrammed plates. Classy or tacky? You be the judge...

The main event, however, was for the second night in a row, beef tartare. And yes, this one realized my fears. It was terrible. It was mushy and wet. The consistency was similar to that of oatmeal. Even the French fries were soft. Days later, when my oldtime pal Michelle came to visit and I told her of my experience she said, "The chefs were laughing in French that another American dummy ordered the dog's dinner."

One awful meal...

For comparison's sake, let's use the eye test....

Tartare from Bar Tuileries....Note the care and craftsmanship. There is no argument.

BUT... The mojito was really good...