(also an update on my mini quest to actually track down a proper @lecamionquifume burger)
Dark jacket zipped up to my neck, my very best don’t fuck with me face, I’m in the back of one of the less regulated phone shops on the boulevard Barbes. I’ve handed over my old iphone in return for a scrap of hand written paper.
An hour or so later I’ve been safely reunited with her (she’s always been called the Pirate Jenny) and I’m now on my way to the centre of town to locate a suitable SIM. The guy in Phonehouse has sent me to hell.
I’m assuming that, like me, you know of les Halles from Zola’s Le Ventre de Paris (the belly of Paris), and as such have visions of porters ferrying overloaded carts of vegetables, flues of sea scented ice, hard eyed merchants and charcuterers all liver cheeked in the morning cold.
Well there is another les Halles, this is a subterranean shopping complex, low ceilings, cheap shop fittings, shops selling even cheaper high street fashion knock offs. MacDonalds and Quick burger vie for the fry supremecy, both shoehorned into badly ventilated little corners, the scents of fry grease edging outwards like black rot up a damp wall. No maps and hoards of teenagers gabbling excitedly, I had actually located Hell, thankfully Hell has an Orange shop.
So to Spring, the early night gloom hung heavy in the sky, the oily lacquer of rain and streetlights was glistening on the pebbles of rue Balliol, and there across the road was @LeCamionQuiFume, and several French police officers. No doubt they were doing their civic duty, but I’d be lying if I didn’t momentarily consider civil disobedience, no French police officer was going to deny me my burger for the fourth attempt in a row.
Thankfully it appears that rather like a beautiful girl working at a bar, le Camion has had to get accustomed to the unwanted attention of Paris’ finest, papers were produced and the frying continued.
As it was early I got to introduce myself to Kristin as she was getting into her stride and very lovely she is, she recognized my name as the dope that’s been traipsing around Paris chasing burgers.
Onto the meat of the issue.
I plumped for a Classique, patty medium rare, chedder, lettuce, tomato, dill pickles and mayo (not very much mayo for those who get angsty about these things). In retrospect I could have been more adventurous, the BBQ version looked particularly appealing being put together with an onion ring and sexy as fuck crisp fried streaky bacon.
The bun had been anointed with melted butter and fried to a delicate golden, the patty was pretty spot on and the veg additions all worked well.
Minor quibbles, the chedder wasn’t 100% melted, but it wasn’t really obvious, especially with the juiciness of the meat. The bun did a fine upstanding job of soaking all the juices, but did leave me with an ear of squishy bread to finish up with, however seeing the extra sauce/juice factors in the fancier versions I imaging that it’s pretty essential for them.
@lecamionquifume sorted me an excellent burger, I will be going back in the new year when they’ll have upped their capacity to deliver. Apparently part of the issue at lunches has been people arriving and ordering 8 – 10 burgers to take back to the office, this really hammers their mini kitchen and has seen them run out very early on occasion (see last post).
I don’t score, but if I did it’d be an 8/10.
Oh and within 45 minutes of my being served, the small wine bar was slammed with people queuing for half an hour or more for their fix.
Go, but go early. Oh, and pray that someone else starts doing good burgers otherwise poor Kirstin is going to get destroyed by the huge Parisian demand for good burgers.
And yes it did out a spring in my step J