I suddenly recalled from when I was much younger this old joke about a snail buying a sports car. It came to me just right after we’d ordered lunch that, short-lived as it was, was a thing of beauty. We were in Benoit, a small corner in Paris where the ladies who lunch, do.
And look at that escargot indeed! It’s been so long I can’t even remember the last time I had snails, especially ones as elegant as these. For such slow-moving creatures, once they were on the table they were very quickly gone. Much as I remember the lowly susò of my youth, trying hard with a raw toothpick to coax them out their shell, it could be the fine china but it just didn’t compare, not by a longshot.
Along with a side of foie gras, an order of John Dory, and a bite of melt-in-your-mouth Sweetbread, our taste buds were in the high heavens.
I was hoping for some Lipitor with my coffee but it looked like they ran out.
Luckily my photos came out well enough to document the ‘event’ as there weren’t enough superlatives to describe this beautifully delicious lunch. It was exciting, satisfying, and above all, ultimately Parisian. At 101 years old, it was what a classic bistro should be, as well as a genuine French experience. Merci, Benoit. I sincerely hope our paths cross again.