One good thing about living in France is that I can eat and drink well, and very often quite reasonably. Some basic examples are; a baguette (ｪ 0.70), 1 kg of potatoes (ｪ 1.80), a piece of Camembert (ｪ 2), a bottle of so-so wine (ｪ 5).

Dining at a middling French restaurant for my companion and I usually costs around ｪ 20 each; for example, even if I'm unlucky enough to get stuck with the bill, it wouldn't normally exceed ｪ 70, including wine and desert -- not such a devastating outlay and not one to result in a silent drive home.

By and large, I'm satisfied 98 percent of the time by the food quality-price ratio in France. But even so, sometimes my stomach tires of the stodgy French diet and cries out for some Asian cuisine.

When I can't cook at home we go to restos chinois (Chinese restaurants). "Asia Palace," "Papillon d'or" or "Perle d'Asie" -- whatever they call themselves -- France's restos chinois are convenient places where we can usually have an acceptable and inexpensive meal.

Yet at the same time, for somebody who simply wants to have ma po tofu (spicy Sichuan-style tofu) and xiao long bao (steamed juicy pork dumplings) or to slurp down a bowl of ramen like me, they can be very confusing and sometimes frustrating places, too.

One day I discovered a restaurant called "Delice de Pekin (Beijing's delicious dishes)" in my village, and my joy was all the more greater since I had lived in Beijing. I just couldn't wait to try it. I looked at the bilingual menu -- the unfamiliar names alarmed me a little -- anyhow I picked raviolis de crevettes (prawn dumplings) and curry de poulet (chicken curry), and waited, sipping my Qindao beer.

A few moments later, the tiny, lean owner of the restaurant appeared with steaming dishes. Enthused by the miraculous encounter with the Far East in a European backwater, I dared to ask in my awkward Mandarin, "Do you come from Beijing?"

He gave me a blank stare -- so, my Chinese didn't help. Without giving up, I tried, "Vous etes de Pekin, donc?" This time, after a small pause, he listlessly said, "No, I come from Cambodia."

Embarrassed by my delusion (there was not a scrap of doubt in my mind that the owner of Beijing Delicious was naturally from Beijing), I turned back to my food; sweet-and-sour, perfumed by mint, coriander and coconut milk -- it didn't remind me at all of the Beijing flavors I knew. In the end, I realized that I had fallen again on an ordinary resto chinois, that is, a hotchpotch of Vietnamese, Cambodian, Thai and Chinese cuisine.

So, in most Chinese restaurants in France, you may find such dishes as nem and rouleaux de printemps (Vietnamese fried/fresh spring rolls), salade de vermicelli (fresh vermicelli salad), riz cantonais (Cantonese fried rice), porc au ananas (fried pork with pineapple) and other specialties concocted by immigrants from ancient French Indochina. But to my disappointment, the probability of encountering ma po tofu and xiao long bao, or a simple, good bowl of ramen is 1,000 to one.

So one day when I found by chance a real Japanese ramen restaurant in Paris' chic 9th arrondissement, I didn't hesitate. Feeling quite at home at last, I was enjoying my noodles when I suddenly realized that everyone was staring at me -- I must have completely forgotten to check my Asian habit with my coat at the door -- yes, one bad thing about eating out at Asian restaurants in France is that I can never slurp noodles to my heart's content.

I'd welcome any comments or opinions, in Japanese or English, about my column. You can write or fax me at The Weekly, or e-mail me at jtweekly@japantimes.co.jp

The Japan Times Weekly: Sept. 25, 2004
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