5.0 Pouic Pouic, 9 rue Lobineau in the 6th, 01.43.26.71.95, closed Sunday dinner and Mondays (Metro: Mabillon); my Franco-American friend whom I've known here since 1953 entered and immediately asked "Why did you choose this place? It's empty and all the other places on the street are full." I explained that (1) it was new and interesting sounding, (2) it was on my "list" and (3) a poster on Chowhound was curious if anyone had been. "Huuuummmm," she said.
We both had the escargots in little pastry shells that were quite tasty, then she had St Pierre in a broth of chopped veggies ("minestrone") and I had veal kidneys in a wine sauce on a puree. I realized I'd lost her when she compared my rognons to those prepared with mustard by her companion; and she was right; much as I tried to justify them as another preparation, they were not as good as our life partners' preparations.
To get the meal back on track, we shared a tart of the day, this of figs, which were quite OK. With that, a bottle of bio Cotes du Rhone Nouveau, no bottled water and two coffees, our bill was 88 E (dB level 81.1)
Go? Well, on my way out a young Brazilian couple got up out of their chairs and said "Excuse us, but that was a most interesting conversation you had at your table." Oh oh, what was it?, the discussion of Hiliary Clinton bashing by the Republicans, my saga of getting my "new" top-loading washing machine working, the discussion of gun-control and mental illness, the extraordinary level of "morosite" reported in Le Monde or our dispute about the wars we Americans keep getting into and the dictators we keep supporting? I chose not to ask, but asked what was their verdict on their meal here after a week in Paris. "Ordinary" they both agreed. I seconded that.
