http://www.tabletalkatlarrys.com/index.php/2010/07/a-food-lovers-trek-chapter-13/ A FOOD MAGAZINE – LARRY LEVINE, EDITOR & PUBLISHER Thu, 01 Dec 2011 21:09:04 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.1.1 http://www.tabletalkatlarrys.com/index.php/2010/07/a-food-lovers-trek-chapter-13/comment-page-1/#comment-305 LSD Mon, 26 Jul 2010 17:05:46 +0000 http://www.tabletalkatlarrys.com/?p=368#comment-305 While Professor (of Bivalves) Levine is surely correct that Seattle is a great town for oysters, it gets a run for its money from Paris, based on an admittedly limited sample: one morning my wife and I meandered across Paris to the famed cookware store Dehillerin at 18, rue Coquilliere, arriving just as it closed for lunch. Okay, we thought, if they're eating, we should, too. Without benefit of a proper eater's guidebook, or recommendations, we kept walking along rue Coquilliere: the next block had something like five restaurants side by side by side. At two of them, a guy was standing at a table in front, shucking oysters. We chose one of the oyster-shucking places, on what flimsy basis I don't remember, and had, of course, oysters. I think there were varieties, but probably nothing near Brooklyn's range. The one-up was that when we finished, we were in Paris, and Dehillerin was open. The dollar hadn't crumbled, so the next part of the adventure -- schlepping copper pots across town and later onto the plane, became the coda to that lovely oyster lunch. While Professor (of Bivalves) Levine is surely correct that Seattle is a great town for oysters, it gets a run for its money from Paris, based on an admittedly limited sample: one morning my wife and I meandered across Paris to the famed cookware store Dehillerin at 18, rue Coquilliere, arriving just as it closed for lunch. Okay, we thought, if they’re eating, we should, too. Without benefit of a proper eater’s guidebook, or recommendations, we kept walking along rue Coquilliere: the next block had something like five restaurants side by side by side. At two of them, a guy was standing at a table in front, shucking oysters. We chose one of the oyster-shucking places, on what flimsy basis I don’t remember, and had, of course, oysters. I think there were varieties, but probably nothing near Brooklyn’s range. The one-up was that when we finished, we were in Paris, and Dehillerin was open. The dollar hadn’t crumbled, so the next part of the adventure — schlepping copper pots across town and later onto the plane, became the coda to that lovely oyster lunch.

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