You can gauge the age of a Parisian restaurant by its size. The older it is, the smaller and more crowded. Americans have no idea what it’s like to dine in a space that’s 150 years old (the bathroom is across the courtyard). But if you want to eat with Parisians, then a meal at Au Pied de Fouet is a must
This tiny place on rue Babylone is just a ten minutes west of the luxurious Bon Marche department store. The concrete walls lining much of the street conceal government buildings, a lovely park and the construction site of a new high-end apartment complex. Before long this area will blossom with activity.
Au Pied de Fouet’s wooden exterior, painted a bright cabernet red, is a startling contrast from the grey monotony that proceeds it. In the middle of the 19th century it was a way station where riders could trade in a tired steed for a fresh one and grab a bite to eat. Today it looks like a converted two car garage filled with flea market treasures. A zinc bar just inside the door operates simultaneously as reception, cashier, dessert and coffee station. Tables lining the opposite wall are at such a premium that strangers often end up sharing a table. George and I found ourselves seated with a pair of gentlemen from Alsace, almost literally dining cheek to cheek.
Our table stood alone opposite the door. Behind me a narrow staircase led to cramped second floor seating. The open kitchen door was just behind George who sat facing me. On each floor only a single waiter seated guests, took orders and served food. Both navigated in this tight passageway around us - in and out of the kitchen, up and down stairs - with seemingly choreographed ease. Food came out, empty plates returned, all without hesitation, a collision or even a grazing.
The menu is traditional bistro fare, servings are generous and prices are inexpensive. The food was a great value too: fresh, tasty, well-presented. Au Pied de Fouet is a well-oiled machine of hospitable and non-intrusive charm. We left refreshed, wishing there were a couple of rested horses waiting to take us back to Montmartre
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