The Most Expensive Ham in the World

This morning I am heading to Lyon and Betty is heading to London.  Therefore, we are departing from two different train stations.  We decide that I will walk Betty to her station on the way to mine, then work it so that I can try a portion of the route along the canal that I missed previously on my 6km trek to Gare de Lyon.  

We head out down Rue des Poissoniers to Rue Barbès, as usual.  I am surprised by the number of elementary school age children walking themselves to school.   At the Tati store, we switch to Rue Magenta, and finally take a left onto Rue Dunkirque, which puts us right in front of Gare du Nord, and the well-marked café called Terminus Nord where I waited for Betty when she first arrived in Paris.   Here’s a photo showing what a great place it is to wait for someone arriving by train.

Today Betty is arriving at the station fairly early in advance of her train, and I tell her she can always go into the café and have a coffee and croissant to kill some time and avoid sitting in the pick-pocket-plagued Gare du Nord.  Or, if she wants something more substantial, she can go next door to Au Rendez-vous des Belges, where the kindly Terminus Nord server sent us to get an “American Breakfast” of eggs and meat.  (In Paris, you will be hard pressed to get anything with “food value” before noon.  Breakfast for the French means coffee and pastry, so knowing a place that serves food in the morning can be very useful.) 

We say our goodbyes in front of the Gare du Nord station and I head out towards Gare de Lyon.  Since I am not sure if Rue la Fayette will actually take me through Gare de L’Est, I go back to Rue Magenta and aim for Rue Saint Laurent, which will take me past the Jardin Villemin on the way to the canal.  Unfortunately, I realize too late that my phone’s GPS is not updating properly, and I miss the turn.  I end up on Rue les Vinaigriers, which efficiently takes me over to the canal. It’s not as exciting as I had hoped, but the locks in the canal are quite interesting.

Reversing my journey I took the first day I arrived in Paris, I follow the canal (Boulevard Richard Renoir) all the way down to the Bastille, and the Les Grandes Marches Opera house.  Then my bag strap breaks.   Fortunately, nothing falls, but it is now incredibly awkward to carry.  I look at googlemaps to estimate how much farther it is to the Gare de Lyon.  It tells me 15 minutes.  I panic.  That will only give me 15 extra minutes to locate the train in the big station before it departs.  It had taken me 30 minutes just to find my way out of the station when I arrived.  How did I get so far behind?  Was I really walking so much more slowly than I thought?

My original plan to walk down along the Jardin du Port de l’Arsenal right to the Seine, then over to the station, goes out the window.  I cut off 0.5 km by heading directly down Rue de Lyon, wisely refusing to rush.  I would not want a repeat of my fall in Brittany.  In less than 5 minutes, I am in front of the station.  I look at my map.  Again, it had not correctly updated itself, and the 15 minute estimate was a result of it thinking I was much farther away than I was.  #%$^@*$!!

I have plenty of time to locate my train, which is in a different part of the station than where I originally arrived 10 days ago.  I settle into my seat and eat the stinkiest cheese in my bag.  It doesn’t help reduce the fish smell that now wafts after me wherever I go.  Feeling sorry for my poor stinky self, I blog the two hours to Lyon.

It turns out that cell coverage is somewhat spotty ono the TGV, perhaps due to its speed.  However, as we approach Lyon, I manage to get a message out to Colin that the train is on time and I will soon be there.  He had promised to meet me at the train station, and then we would walk the 3km to meet up with his family, who are visiting the city.  Colin’s reply is perplexing: “What?!  You are arriving at noon?  I thought you were arriving at 4pm!  I made lunch reservations at noon at Les Adrets in Vieux Lyon.” 

Now, I am very familiar with Les Adrets.  It was one of our favorite restaurants in Lyon the last time we came to France.  We walked in and realized you must make a lunch reservation at least one day in advance, so we did.  The food was so good, that we reserved for the next day.  We did that about five times in one week.  Lunch service is only from 12-1:30pm, and there is only one sitting, with a set menu. So Colin cannot not move the reservation, and I cannot not figure out how to walk 3km in less than 40 minutes.  I google the Metro and between train changes and walking, it doesn’t seem much faster.  I decide on a taxi.  I tell Colin to get everyone to order a Kir apératif to stall the service: it will be win-win.  ;) 

As the train approaches the station, I get up and stand next to the door, so I can boot it out to the taxi stand as quickly as possible.  I am at the taxi stand within 5 minutes and spot an available taxi.  I hop in, tell him “30 Rue du Boeuf,” and think: “This can really work!  I can get there by 12:15pm, and it will be no problem.”  Well… I might as well have walked.  First of all, the traffic near the station was atrocious.  Then, the taxi driver starts taking a strange round-about route to get through Presqu’ile.  He is heading up to the opposite end of Rue du Boeuf from where we need to be.  Checking googlemaps, I realize that Rue du Boeuf is a one way street, and he plans to run down from one end to the other.  Unfortunately, it is also a very narrow alleyway of a street filled with pedestrians.  I realize he probably doesn’t know where #30 is.  Naturally, about half way down, the road is completely blocked by a moving van.  He stops the taxi and sits with a perplexed expression.  There is no way to get around or turn around.  I tell him, “This is close enough!!  Let me out!!”  Fortunately, all this mess had only cost me 2 more Euro than I expected, and I am now in a very familiar neighborhood.  I weave my way through the last few blocks to the restaurant.  I arrive at 12:30pm.   

The family had managed to hold off the waitress with their kirs, and look quite jovial.  The set lunch is spectacular, as usual, and includes two bottles of wine.  Entrées (appetizers) are a choice of gazpacho or andouille sausage, plats (mains) are a choice of fish or veal, and dessert is “fromage blanc” (plain yogurt with cream and sugar) or sweets.  The sweet plate included a traditional praline tart and incredible mint icecream.  I remember to send all of Colin's family to the bathroom, because... in this restaurant, the washrooms are found at the end of a really neat traboule!  A tiny door leads to a winding stone staircase and opens to a courtyard looking down upon the restaurant.  A pretty cool surprise I found on my first visit to the restaurant.

  

After lunch, I encourage the group to check out the traboules of Vieux Lyon, since they are among the best of the city, and begin basically within a block of Les Adrets.  (Also great are the traboules of Croix Rousse.  Check out http://www.lyontraboules.net/parcours.php for a map of all the traboules in Lyon.)   Instead, they decide to head back to their gite on Presqu’ile, 1.5km away.  It is the beginning of a long walk that covers most of the downtown area of Lyon.  The map below includes the complete Lyon randonnée for today: about 9km of flat terrain.

After resting at the gite for about an hour, they decide to head back to the traboules in Vieux Lyon.  We take the Passerelle Saint Georges to the Eglise Saint Georges, then walk up Rue Doyené to Rue de la Bombarde to find the traboules.  We arrive at 4pm, to watch a man shut the traboule down for the day.  While the others try to decide what to do next, I order a butter-sugar crepe from a street vendor on Rue Saint Jean, who makes it fresh right in front of me.   It's my new motto:  when in doubt, eat a butter-sugar crepe.  ;) 

Colin’s mother Jan decides she wants to retrace our steps to visit the Cathédrale Saint-Jean Baptiste, which we had passed a couple of blocks back, and lucks out that there is an English language tour running.  They are restoring the inside of the church, and it is really easy to see exactly how far they've gotten.  We spend about a half an hour there, before wandering the streets a little more.  

Colin’s brother Matt is exhausted.  He hasn’t been sleeping well since he arrived in France.  With no particular destination in mind for the rest of the day, he is ready to simply head back to the gite.  His wife Mel seems disappointed that the day will be cut short.  Colin makes a genius suggestion:  We can walk Matt back to Presqu’ile, and the rest of us can accompany Colin towards the Lyon Part-Dieu train station on the other side of the Rhone.  This way, Mel and Jan can walk next to the Rhone, see the city a little more, and most importantly, visit the Halles Paul Bocuse.  Being a foodie, Mel is eager to visit the Halles and fill her bag with culinary delights.  

We take a somewhat circuitous route, from Rue de la Bombarde down to the banks of La Saone River, and across Pont Bonaparte to Place Bellecour.  None of us can figure out why there are dozens of empty white festival tents in the square: nothing seems to be happening.  There, we wave goodbye to Matt and proceed across Presqu’ile on Place Bellecour.  

We cross the Rhone on the Pont de la Guillotière, and admire the towers at the Piscine du Rhone to our right.  We turn left onto the seawall.  The wide paved promenade is lined with grass and shallow man-made ponds.  It seems to be the place to be on summer evenings, and is filled with people skateboarding, picnicking, and just hanging out.  We are confused why there are so many people congregated under the bridge… until we step underneath it, and the cool breeze takes away an entire layer of sweat that our walk in the hot sun had deposited on us.  

We hang a right on Cours Lafayette, which takes us directly to Les Halles.  The internet has promised us the Halles would be open, but as we approach, the doors are closed and the insides darkened.  Although there are people sitting on the steps outside, we don’t see anyone moving around inside.  We worry we’re having an “everything is closed in France” moment.  Fortunately, the door opens to our touch: they are indeed open after all!   

This is a market named for Lyon’s most famous chef, Paul Bocuse, who reportedly can be seen here on Sundays, sipping coffee with the local vendors.  This is most definitely a chef’s market, with top quality food ingredients that fill the shopping baskets of the city’s top chefs every morning, which are then served in the best of the best Lyon restaurants.  Of course, it also attracts “regular folks” like us, although we can’t afford the morel mushrooms being sold for 1000 Euro /100 g… or the 336 Euro “tasting plate” at Ecailler Cellerier.   

At this late time of day, the Halles are extraordinarily quiet.  There are no crowds or lines at any of the vendor stalls, although I am surprised to see many people sitting in Ecailler Cellerier.  Many of the fresh produce stalls are closed.  Fortunately for us, many of the most famous meat, cheese, and fish stalls are still open, as are the stalls sporting non-perishables and exotic sweets, such as candied clementines (the amazing orange balls in the top right of the photo: a must-try).  We wander around the Halles, admiring the nearly overwhelming selection of fancy cheeses and meats.  You can get a feel for the market by watching this youtube video.    

Colin wants to buy cheeses, and Mel wants to buy some meat-based delicacies.  They each head in a different direction… Mel’s finely tuned foodie-senses leading her straight to the highly acclaimed Bobosse.  Colin seems to be doing ok on his own, but the vendor at Bobosse is having trouble understanding Mel’s simple English-language request of “This one” with accompanying pointing towards a lovely chicken paté croute.  I help out by speaking in French to the vendor, and am thrilled when she treats me like a local.  

At Poissonnerie Durand, I spot the type of fish that Betty and I learned to cook yesterday in our cooking class at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris (at top centre of the photo below).  Part of our lesson was learning how to identify the proper fish we want in the market, then determine whether the price is appropriate and whether the fish is in top condition.  This fish, the Dorade (gilt-headed sea bream), is a pink-fleshed fish with a distinctive golden tilak-type marking on its brow. Chef Frédéric Lesourd told us that it should have bright eyes, bright red gills, a gooey texture on the scales, no smell, firm flesh, and it should be a little rigid when you try to bend the fish.  Well, with no real intention of buying it today, I neglected to pick this one up to test it, but I did have a flashback to the finished product we ate yesterday… which was amazing!!!

On the opposite end of Les Halles, we watch the market chefs slice razor-thin slices of meat off huge cured pork haunches.  Wealthy customers sit at raised counters, sipping wine and sampling wares, sometimes nodding appreciatively.  I’ve wanted to sit in the Halles with a glass of wine noshing delicate slivers of the priciest meats and cheeses ever since I first laid eyes on the place.  Today I get my wish!!  We head over to Bellota Bellota, which specializes in Spanish jambon ibérique (Iberian ham), the most expensive type of ham in the world.  It comes from a black pig fed exclusively on bellota (acorns).  We order “La grande Z’Emotions!” which is an appetizer plate boasting “six emotions on one plate”:  Iberian ham, Fayet Catalan sausage, two types of Manchego cheese (cured and semi-cured), with little squares of Membrillo quince paste (meant to bring out the flavors in the Manchego), and the best darn chorizo any of us has ever eaten.  Our server is wonderful, and helps us select perfect wines based on our taste.

Mel can’t resist buying some additional products from Bellota Bellota to take home, including a package of Guérande sea salt, a lovely little Spanish balsamic vinegar, and some additional chorizo for Matt to try.  Language is again a barrier for her, especially when it comes to pricing, but she does well without my help… until she panics, mistakenly believing she accidentally just paid 43 Euro for a few slices of meat, when it is really priced at 43 Euro per kilo. Hey, at Les Halles, either is possible!

After our snack, Colin leaves for his train.  It’s bittersweet seeing him today, after so many days apart, then sending him off again so quickly.  I know we will see each other again tomorrow, when the rest of the family drives to our gite in Chamelet, but I have been missing him a lot these last 10 days.

Mel, Jan, and I leave the Halles, and head back along Cours Lafayette towards Presqu’ile. Crossing the Pont Lafayette, we turn left on Rue de la Republique, a walking-only boulevard lined with shops.  We know we’re in the tourist area, because we pass a Starbucks and an H&M, and an idea crosses my mind that if I can’t get the fish out of my skirt, I could replace it.  I only bought it a month ago, so it would probably still be on the shelves. 

At Comptoir de Cotonniers, we pass a lovely carousel and a beautiful set of fountains.  The day is so hot, I contemplate splashing my way through them, then decide better of it. They don’t seem to be that type of fountain. [edit: I find out later that I was wrong about that!]

At Place Bellecour, we walk through to Rue de la Charité, past La Muséedes Tissues, and continue onward until we hit Rue Franklin.  From there, it’s one quick block over to their gite on Rue Henry IV.   We make a mental note of the bakery on the corner, for tomorrow morning’s croissant needs. 

Back at the gite, Mel pulls out her purchases, and we have a big banquet of local delicacies.  Of course, our tales of eating the Iberian ham cause Matt to launch into, "Tina, come get some ham!!"  which gets us going on a whole stream of other hilarious quotes from the movie.  So, on that note, the only thing left to say is...  Vote for Pedro!  All your wildest dreams will come true.  :D