We’re not sure if the French have what Americans consider “soul food.”  But if they did, Crémerie-Restaurant Polidor, in the 6th arrondissement on the Left Bank, would be the place to get it.

It’s a small, old-fashioned, homely little place serving food that feels like it came straight out of a French mom’s kitchen.  Instead of fried chicken and mac-and-cheese, there’s beef bourguignon and mashed potatoes.

The food was hearty and flavorful and it just felt good to eat.  It’s kind of like eating chicken noodle soup on a cold day.  It’s a cozy feeling that warms your entire body.  (If only Campbell’s could somehow put beef bourguignon in a can.)

People don’t just come to Polidor because it’s a near perfect restaurant.  No, they also come for the bathroom.  A bathroom so unfathomable, it can only be described as… an experience.

To get to the bathroom, you have to squeeze through long, communal tables and walk outside into a dark atrium.  There’s a wall with swinging wooden doors like a Wild West saloon.  And once you pass through the doors, you come to a dead stop.  Inside is one of the smallest, most confusing stalls you can imagine.

It’s like a coffin with lovable powder blue tiles.  There’s virtually no room, and if you’re over 5’6″, you have to duck to fit inside.  There’s barely any room to breathe let alone go potty.

This bathroom is like a game at the fair.  You put your feet in the designated foot holders and aim for a hole that will severely test your accuracy.  If you can somehow manage to urinate in the hole from beginning to end, you deserve some kind of prize.  And if you can escape without spraying all over your shoes, you deserve instant access to heaven because you’re a living miracle.

If it wasn’t already hard enough to hit the target, take a peek over your shoulder.  The wooden doors practically expose everything.  And the atrium has a direct view into the restaurant.  So while you’re peeing, there are people in the restaurant watching you.  Judging you.  Evaluating your progress with score cards.  (Not really, but it feels like it.)

And if you’ve gotta take a #2… don’t even think about it.  The lone toilet is in a room with only three walls, again with an open view into the atrium.  There’s no lock.  And worst of all, you have pass through this room to even get to the stall outside.  So unless you like people walking in and out of the bathroom, looking at you while you’re taking a #2 on a cold winter night, it’s best to hold it in.

Crémerie-Restaurant Polidor
http://www.polidor.com/
41 rue Monsieur-le-Prince
+33 1 43 26 95 34
Metro: Odéon

Chartier has been serving traditional French food in Paris since 1896.  And when I say traditional, I’m talking about all the things that you might be afraid to eat:  tripe, tongue, brains… all the gross-sounding left over parts.

But if you’re gonna get an authentic taste of the country you’re visiting, you’ve gotta step outside of your comfort zone and try something a little unusual.  In the end, it might be worth the risk.

The risk we took was trying escargot.  Snails might not sound like such a big deal, but to us, it was.  We see snails slithering down the sidewalk every day.  And the idea of eating a slimy, rubbery gastropod wasn’t appetizing.

When the waiter first placed the tray of escargot on the table, I was nervous and confused.  It was like “the first time” all over again.  I had these tools but I didn’t know how to use them properly.  There was some kind of clamping device that looked like those things women use to put on mascara.  And there was this tiny two-pronged device that looked like an evil instrument my dentist would wield.

It was intimidating.  But thank goodness for communal dining.  Our friendly neighbors, despite their limited English vocabulary, showed us how to pick up the snail shell and extract the meat.

We couldn’t delay any longer.  The snail was on the fork.  Our neighbors were looking at us.  We were in the spotlight.  Time to go for it…

And… It was delicious.  The snail itself was soft and slightly chewy.  But all I could really taste was garlic and butter.  You could put garlic and butter on piece of lint and I’d think it was delicious.

Our daring adventure ended there.  We went with a plain burger and a rump steak with a peppery-cream sauce for our meals.

File this under the “you learn something new everyday” category:  the French consider cheese a dessert.  I consider it an easy dinner when I’m too lazy to cook, but apparently cheese aids in digestion and that’s why it’s eaten last.

Restaurant-Chartier
http://www.restaurant-chartier.com/www/visit/filsdesans.php
7 rue du Faubourg Montmartre
+33 1 47 70 86 29
Metro: Grands Boulevards

When you think of restaurants that are open 24 hours a day / 7 days a week, you probably think of Denny’s or Norm’s or some other artery-clogging eatery named after a heavy-set man.  But in France, there’s a famous restaurant that’s open 24/7… and it’s fine dining.

Au Pied de Cochon has been a pork lover’s paradise since 1947.  They literally use every part of the pig:  shins, feet, ears, tail, snout, you name it.

They serve “normal” food too, like rotisserie chicken.  And in hindsight, I probably should have stuck to something I was familiar with.  I’ll try weird things, but I’m no Andrew Zimmern.

The name Au Pied de Cochon is literally translated as “To the Foot of Pig”, so I ordered the pig’s foot.  Underneath a breaded crust was a gelatenous, mushy substance that had the faint smell of bacon and the heavy taste of fat.  It was like eating a baked piece of grissel.  It melted quickly and coated my tongue with a waxy layer of fat.  Getting it down was like a game of pretend.  “Pretend it’s bacon.  Crisp bacon.”

That’s not to say this place was bad.  Au Pied de Cochon is a classic restaurant with a great reputation (and exorbitantly high prices to match that reputation).  The pig’s foot just wasn’t for me.

I’ll tell you what was for me: the dessert.  We had a deliciously dense crepe flombayed with Grand Marnier.  Now, I thought that when they set fire to the liqeur, it was supposed to burn off the alcohol.  Well, this thing must have been doused with like six shots of liqueur, and only one got burned off.  This thing was definitely intense.  Lip-numbingly intense.

They cap off your visit with a cute little merange shaped like a pig.  I ate almost the whole thing… except the foot.

Au Pied de Cochon
http://www.pieddecochon.com/
6, Rue Coquillière
75001 Paris, France
+33 1 40 13 77 00
Metro: Les Halles