High times

Being in Paris, I was overwhelmed by a sense of time and history. To walk along cobblestone streets that have existed for centuries and tread by some of the most influential people in the world, well, it's almost hard to grasp how many momentous events have transpired at the very points on which you stand.
Can you imagine having a lifetime to explore the city?
My goal in Paris was simple: to have a good time with Wyatt & Griffin, show them some key sights, and please all of us. It was easy to do. They're great travellers, and they gamely go where I suggest.
On our first night, I sought out a restaurant that had been recommended to me by a friend: Le Relais de L'Entrecote.
This was a perfect choice after a long flight and a full day, because there are very few decisions to be made. Sometimes (usually) when I'm tired, I can't make a decision for the life of me. Like, if I'm at a restaurant looking at a menu with a lot of good options, my brain starts to ping-pong inside of my head and I get stuck in a loop of indecision.
Voila L'Entrecote. This is a restaurant where they serve steak and frites, and that's it. My friend had told me that the frites were excellent, and so, going in, I knew that if nothing else, Griffin would be happy.
Another good thing: no reservations are taken. I'm not a big planner, so this works well for me. We arrived before 7:00 p.m., got a nice table by the window, sat down, and made Decision #1: what to drink. Easy: a half-bottle of the house red wine, a San Pellegrino, and two Cokes.
How did we want our steak? One rare, one medium-well, and no steak for Griffin, just a plate of frites.
The absence of decision-making was as good as a tranquilizer; I was like a content communist. I sat back, breathed deeply, and smiled at my two boys. Life was good!
We chatted and the waitress brought us a basket of bread, then green salads, lightly dressed with a vinaigrette, for Wyatt and me. The pace was leisurely, unhurried, yet not painstakingly slow. When our steak & frites & frites arrived, everything was hot, and the steak was dressed with L'Entrecote's "secret sauce." I would guess that it's made of butter and olive oil, onion, some garlic, and thyme. Whatever it is, it was excellent on top of the perfectly cooked, tender steak; and the frites were golden, crispy, and hot. Everyone was happy!

There was also some Dijon mustard on the table, which added the perfect note of zing to my steak. Griffin even tried some.

Our friend had said, "Eat a profiterole for me." So when we had finished our main and our waitress asked if we wanted dessert, I ordered a plate of profiteroles for us to share.

Stuffed with vanilla ice cream and covered with a dark chocolate sauce, the first taste struck the boys as revelatory. Paris was a hit!
We left the warm glow of the restaurant smiling and full, and fueled with enough sugar to propel a brisk walk to the Eiffel Tower.
The boys were really excited, and decided we should scale the tower, like Spiderman.

There were no crowds, and there was no line (benefit of travelling in wintertime). As we rode the old elevator up to the very top, I thought to myself, "Oh, I'm glad I had that wine at dinner. How old is this elevator?" Well, it didn't bear dwelling upon; we were in. At the top, we looked out upon the whole city, sparkling in the cold air, and the boys gasped and said, "Oh, WOW!! AWESOME!!"


It really was.