I love French food. I adore their snails. I secretly worship their generous use of butter for absolutely everything and anything. I am not a French food connoisseur by any means (or of any food, for that matter), but I do know how to eat, and that’s all that matters… for now at least! The only sad part is, either because I’m a poor college student or because I also have the stigma that French food is expensive – or because of both – I don’t really try to go to French restaurants. BUT my hope my darling RW was here, so I immediately started searching for one.
So there is a story behind getting to Pigalle. Being the RW lover, I had made a reservation like forever before the day we wanted to go. So why did we sit at the bar?
Another friend of mine had come to visit me in Boston all the way from Mexico, so I thought why not take him to a good restaurant and have a good conversation and company over good, solid food? He did not have a cellphone, so we just decided to meet in front of Arlington station about fifteen minutes before our reservation time. When I got there, however, he was not there! I had dragged my roommate to join us for the lovely dinner I had in mind, so with her, I searched everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Our last hope was that he miraculously would already be waiting for us at the restaurant, but when we got there… he was not there. By then, I was absolutely freaking out, worried the poor Mexican boy was lost all by himself somewhere in the city. Now, this is where it gets… interesting, let’s just say.
Okay, before anything, I admit I am the worst friend, the worst person in the world.
After looking for my friend forever and getting to the restaurant, I kind of gave up. It was a cold evening. I was tired. There was no other place to look for him, because we looked everywhere. And, I was hungry. AND, I felt terrible because I had brought my roommate with me just to go through all this. So, we went inside over an hour late and got seated at the bar instead of the table under the nice lights.
Before you throw rocks at me, let me just say that it was a happy ending. Well, sort of.
My friend called after we placed our orders (I still can’t half believe I just went ahead and ordered. Sorry, I’m a horrible human being), my friend called me ever so calmly. Um, why was he so calm while I was still freaking out? He had misheard the time to meet up with me at the station! I told him to come to the restaurant immediately, and he just walked over from the station. Long story, short ending. Well, at least the meal was more tasty because of the search in the cold.
Soup sounded heavenly after the long, desperate search in the cold, so I chose the Onion Soup without hesitation for my appetizer. It was so tasty! I was extremely satisfied, except for three small elements.
1. I could not get enough of that good soup (portion was rather small)
2. It was slightly too salty
3. I wouldn’t normally call it “soup,” given it didn’t really have that much… soup. It was tasty, no doubt, but I wish there were more of that delicious broth.
My roommate seemed content with her choice of appetizer as well, although I think I remember her saying it wasn’t anything special.
I repeat, I love snails. And if you have read any of my past posts, I freaking love risotto. So put them together, and I will cry a river from happiness. I enjoyed the dish, because it was seasoned just right. Escargots I ate before were prepared a little fancy, but this dish felt more like comfort food, the kind moms would make (okay, definitely not my mom, but still). The warmth was definitely something I needed to calm my soul down.
Roommate’s Duck Entree I can’t recall the name of
There were three choices for dessert, so we each chose one and decided to let one another try a bite. I confess, I ate all of mine minus two bites plus half of the profiteroles. Call me fatty. We all liked our own desserts best, and everyone was pleased.
While enjoying our tasty meal, I told my friend everything that had happened. His reaction, understandably, was that of disappointment and disbelief. Basically giving up on looking for a foreigner in a foreign city? But by then, I knew that he was not, after all, lost by any means but instead taking his time and enjoying the museum while I was going crazy all by myself. The end was good, at least! And so was the meal.
Side note – our Italian bartender/ waiter that waited us at the bar was super friendly and funny, keeping me and my roommate company while we waited for our Mr. I-suck-at-listening (just kidding) and during our waits for the next courses. And kind of attractive, from what I remember. Them Italians.
Anyways, Pigalle was definitely a great restaurant. It’s one of those restaurants I explain as not having the kind of dishes that blow your mind with different flavor combinations, creativity, etc. but it does serve clean, solid, tasty dishes that leave your stomach content. A plus for the food and service. And the episode behind our trip.
75 Charles St S
Boston, MA 02116