Petite France in Grande Philadelphia

The weekend before last my dear friend Su came down from NYC for a visit. The summer before last, Su and I—along with another pal, Becca (the redhead pictured in the header of this blog)—crossed the Atlantic Ocean for a European takeover. You might be thinking, "Jane that’s great. Good for you. But I could not care less about you or your red-headed friends." Here, I would urge you to bear with me, and remind you that only one of my friends is red-headed. So let’s not fly off the handle and try to pay attention. You see my food friends, of our most favorite places while abroad was sweet, sweet Paris (pronounced Pair-ee), and during Su’s visit, we happened to discover a little bit of Paris right here in Philadelphia. And now, I’m sharing my findings with you.

Our view of at Parc in Rittenhouse Square.

Parc is located on 18^th Street and sits on Rittenhouse Square. Su and I, pretending that we were leisurely Europeans, strolled up and requested a table that overlooked the park for our lunch a la français. Parc on the park…vveeerrrryyy clever, Steven Starr (a local restaurateur and owner of Parc, for those of you out-of-towner. Or rather, Mom and Dad). From our seat, we were able to look out over Rittenhouse, seeing dog walkers, school children relishing in the last few days of summer, business men sneaking away from their office for a smoke so their superiors wouldn’t see...all terribly charming in their own way.

The table adjacent to us--chairs made in France! Oo la la...

As we reluctantly shifted our gaze from the park to our menus, I was pleasantly surprised with their sandwich selection. Each sandwich soundly deliciously Parisian, along with just plain delicious. From smoked salmon tartine to salami and camembert, the Croque Madame to the Cheeseburger (cheese-burr-gurr), all but two were under $15. Served with a mixed green salad and a variety of bread to start, my wallet was already pleased.

Parc's complimentary assortment of French bread. Om nom nom.

 I settled on the Curry Chicken Salad Sandwich ($10.50), Su on the Parisian Ham Baguette ($11). I’m pretty sure Su would be happy eating a Parisian Ham Baguette everyday for the rest of her life, and her many years of attempting to reach this goal has made her an expert in the field. She was pleased with the simplicity of the flavors and the quality of the ingredients, a stamp of approval for Parc. My sandwich was just as delicious. Mounds of curry chicken salad topped with avocado billowed out of chewy, thick French bread. We also decided to split an order of Pommes Frites ($6), or French Fries my American friends, to bring “balance” to our meal.

Su's Ham and Cheese Baguette to the left, my Curry Chicken Salad to the right. Pommes Frites center, and a cameo by my Diet Coke.

The wait staff was pleasant. Which, while not very French, was much appreciated. The service was swift but not rushed. Su and I hung around talking and people watching for over an hour, never once feeling pressure to abandon our post. All in all, Parc served up a delicious meal that brought back feelings of nostalgia for Paris, all most enough to make me want to buy a plane ticket back ($759). On second thought—never mind. I’ll take my double digit lunch and a nod toward French culture instead for now.

Check it out: http://www.parc-restaurant.com/ 

Welcome Friends, Countrymen...

Greetings my fellow foodies! And thank you for stumbling upon my humble blog (even if it was an accident…because let’s be real it probably was). As I embark on the blogosphere, I think you and I should clear a few things up:

• No. “Foodocrat” is not meant to conjure up feelings of any specific party bias or to represent my political leanings in any way. It’s merely me trying to express my belief that taxes on “food” should be increased, big “restaurants” benefit everyone, and providing social services—such as “leftovers”—to those who are hungry is a nice thing to do. (See what I did there?) No but really, this blog is only called Foodocrat because my friend Edward said I needed a one-word title and this URL was available. I’m not trying to make some sort of backhanded political statement. (Or am I…) No, but seriously. All republicans, democrats, tea partiers (only if this means you actually go to parties and drink tea, not the other kind. We all have limits) non-affiliates and those who are just plain exhausted, are welcome. In fact encouraged, as I am fairly certain that only my parents will end up reading this.

• Yes. I love food. I love eating it. I love cooking it. I love looking at it when it’s in the window of a really snooty patisserie. However, and this is a big however, I am by no means an “authority” per se. Much as I enjoy—because I really do—shoveling food into my mouth whilst repeating phrases I learned from Top Chef, I am just your average, run-of-the-mill young lady searching for good eats in the city that created the cheese steak. Perhaps one of the least refined foods money can buy. But hot damn if it isn’t delicious.

• Yes. I am cheap. (I know you were thinking it anyway, so we might as well just get it out in the open.) We’ll say thrifty, actually, because that sounds a whole lot more like a compliment. That means that most of the restaurants I dine in, meals I prepare, and tips I give will be for those penny pinchers out there who enjoy the finer things.

• No. I am not alone in this journey. Well--I guess Yes AND No might be more appropriate. Allow me to explain, because just like you all thought I was cheap—and you did, don’t deny it—you think I’m loner, too. But I've always believed that when you dine, take a partner in crime. That way, you get to try TWO things. Genius, I know. So I promise you this, dear friends, that whenever possible I will drag along one of my loyal friends on this roller-coaster we call life. Because really, when it comes down to it, aren't we all just boppin' along, looking for a dinner date who can stand to watch us eat a lobster? If that ain't love, than I don't know what love is.

So if this quest of mine sounds like something you’d be in to, come along ma friends. Because, if Top Chef has taught me anything, it’s that dealing with food is no joke. So I say “Bonjour Blogosphere!” And let’s collectively hope that this adventure leaves me feeling full—pun intended.