Omid T.
Yelp
"That's not buffalo sauce," I said. "That's for sure."
"It's not barbecue sauce either," she said.
"Well, kinda. It's sort of sweet-savory, and there isn't only one formula for barbecue sauce," I said.
"You know what? It tastes like hoi-sin!" she exclaimed.
"You're right," I said. "At any rate, it's NOT barbecue sauce."
"Not buffalo. not barbecue. At least that's real blue cheese, right?" she asked.
"Right. And fennel instead of celery? Not bad at all. Very original. But these 'hot wings' - not right at all."
We finished our plate of not-buffalo, not-barbecue wings and sipped our ice cold Grolsch as the waitress cleared the table.
"Rob-e anar!" I said.
"Huh?"
"It's Frasi for pomegranate molasses. The sauce tastes like it. Nothin' but pomegranate molasses," I concluded. "Not buffalo. Not barbecue. Not even freakin' hoi-sin. These damn hot wings taste of Persian food!"
My rack of ribs arrived. Covered in the same "barbecue" sauce. "This is going to be a long dinner," I said. "At least your burger looks good."
She took a bite. "You want a bit?"
"Already? Wow, that burger must be fantabulous."
I tasted it. "This is the worst hamburger bun I've ever tried. And I say this after having tried many burgers in France. The meat's pretty good, though."
"How's your meat?" she asked.
"I'll let you know after I get through all this sauce," I said. "At least the baked potato with sour cream and chives is hard to mess up."
"Yeah, it looks like a proper baked potato!"
"I think the orange thing next to it is a yam or sweet potato. Hell yes!" I put it in my mouth.
"How is it?"
"Hell NO!" I spit out the offensively stringy sweet potato. "I should've ordered the burger."
"The bun ruins it completely."
"Oh. At least the rib hidden under all this sauce isn't bad. It's dry, but it's got plenty of meat. Want some?"
"I've lost my appetite for American food," she said.
"At least the beer's good," I said.
"At EUR7 a pint, it better be!"
The waitress cleared the table again. "Would you like a dessert?"
"Oh, no, we couldn't eat another bite." Honest, but polite, right?
So you might be thinking "Why would an American go to have American food in Paris? Couldn't you eat at home?" Sure, but sometimes you want to go out and be served a bit of your motherland, you know? And Joe Allen is known as one of the elder statesmen of American restaurants in Paris. Well, someone should remind Mr. Allen that people now expect much more of American food than they did back when he opened up shop in 1972.
I won't be going back. Except maybe for a cold Grolsch. (Which is Dutch, not American.)