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I am off today to pay a visit to a dear old friend of mine, Raymond, who I just learned is at the American Hospital of Paris or more properly known as the Hôpital Américain de Paris, Neuilly-sur-Seine. Raymond is a very successful lawyer who cut his corporate teeth with a rather prominent “white shoe” Wall Street law firm. These days he’s a Partner with Cabinet Valechard, Marseau, Duplessis et Associés, a prestigious though considerably smaller law firm with offices on the rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. His lovely wife Sylvie (and I do mean lovely) has dual American-French nationality and is a heiress of sorts, something to do with her late father’s brewery concern in the Midwest. Anyway, they spend a few months each year in New York on the Upper East Side and sometimes get down to Annapolis as Raymond considers himself to be very much the world class skipper. I met the two of them at a great saloon on the waterfront. One thing led to another and we have been dear friends ever since. But coming back to Paris, Raymond and Sylvie are safe and sound in their lovely apartment on the boulevard Suchet in the 16th overlooking the Bois de Boulogne. For more on their little pied a terre, see Aperitif Dinatoire-with Raymond et Sylvie There’s a great story about the boulevard Suchet which I will write about at some later date. Anyway, so of course when Sylvie rang me with the news I went, tout-de-suite, as they say.
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I am off to Neuilly, a wonderful location right off the Paris city limits and sometimes referred to as La banlieue dorée or the golden suburbs. I know this area well. With a population hovering around 65,000, it’s locals include some of France’s titans of industry, media, entertainment and at last count more than 50 ambassadors called Neuilly home. Strangely enough, the City of Neuilly never seems to have few if any problems thanks to the present administration. Passing by the Hotel de Ville, Town Hall, I chuckled thinking that somewhere safely locked away in one of those lovely ornate rooms with huge gilded ceilings and antique furniture everywhere (you know like any city hall, in Osh Kosh for example) lies my birth certificate safely tucked away. It remains to be “annotated” with various life stages as I have been so informed, but that’s another story. I am also reminded of a famous French politician who was once Mayor of Neuilly (1983-2002) then decided the Presidency of France looked like a pretty good step-up in the right direction and if nothing esle would look good on the resume (le cv). What a good move, Bravo Monsieur le Président! But do you have references and who was your supervisor at the Mairie de Neuilly?
Going to the American Hospital, at 63, boulevard Victor Hugo is for me, a little bit like going back into time. After all I was born at that very hospital only just a few years ago; I’m sure then that the staff were all shaking their heads “this one could be trouble” or “no good deed goes unpunished” or something like that. Maybe I was the poster child for one of Truffaut’s films. The hospital, a bref aperçu about its history which goes back to the 1900’s and received its charter from the U.S. Congress in 1913 to operate as an American hospital. It survived two world wars and has continued on as an outstanding medical facility ever since. During the inter-war years, when my father grew up in Paris, one of his boyhood friends father was, at that time, the hospital administrator who stayed in Paris “guarding the fort” so to speak until the sound of hobnailed boots got too loud. Both boys, much later in their adult lives, ran into each other in the most unlikely of places -in the heart of darkness. Strange but not really.
I poked my head in and saw Sylvie who thanked me at once for being a good friend and coming over. Raymond looked fine but his pajamas where just not him. Raymond is one of those impeccable dressers and prides himself on that very fact. So I made a point of letting him know that he seemed a little undressed as it were. He is in for “tests” or observations for a few days. I don’t pry, I just try and murmur les mots justes, express the right concerns. So we will see. I stayed for a while and listened to stories about their ski latest trip to Megève. As Sylvie put it “you simply must make time to come and see us you would love the Chalet, not to mention the food.” I bowed out graciously taking my leave but not before asking if Sylvie wanted to have lunch with me. She asked if she could accept a rain check. You better believe that’s a deal. Waving to Raymond with a get well quick, I disappeared. I did eventually have a lovely lunch with Sylvie, see: Lunch at la Grande Cascade.
“Monsieur sportif” may not be my name but the weather was relatively agreeable to my walking and well after the dinner we served last night, a little brisk walk was indiqué. So I trotted on down the Boulevard Victor Hugo to the Rue de Chezy eventually reaching Rue Perronetlycée Pasteur across the street hadn’t changed. I can remember on nice days they would have classroom windows open and you could hear the teacher’s brow-beating students for their ineptitude. How I missed the French school system. I have to figure out a way to somehow get in building. Maybe a box of chocolates for the concierge, a box of truffles perhaps? They may no longer even have a concierge for all I know.
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I was running late for my lunch. Stepped in front of cab declaring marshal law (dangerous -very) and told the cabbie I was going to Le Chalet de Neuilly which is located at 14, rue du commandant Pilot. Le Chalet’s ambiance is all about winter, coziness and having and incredible meal. You always wonder if the slopes are out back. Simple as that. Their specialties, as the name would imply, are from the mountain regions of La Savoy. The cuisine is” Savoyard” which means you won’t have far to look for potatoes dishes, flavorful mountain cheeses, and saucissons. So picking up on that theme, I knew I wanted to try their Reblochon et jambon de montagne gratinés, which comes with potatoes and salad. The Reblochon is a tasty cheese and when combined with smoked ham and potatoes and cream and butter and and… Well, delicious indeed and I washed it down with a demi-pichet of Bourgogne Aligoté 2006. My oh my! Call for the stretcher!
Question du jour: Was the Chalet’s gratinés as good as the Gratin Dauphinois at the Auberge? Difficult to say I’m really too full to even think. What I really needed was a digestif.