When It's Good.

Good poker players will be familiar with the rookie keep-betting-even-though-my-hand-will-probably-lose-but-I've-already-bet-so-much mistake.

It's a tricky decision during Texas Hold 'Em type games where you lose more confidence in your hand with each revelation of new cards, but you continue to keep calling bets because you feel in too deep to back out and fold your hand. (Lame man's terms: I thought I was going to win so I threw in a lot of money, but now I don't think I'm going to win but I'll keep pretending like I could win and I might as well keep throwing in money.) In poker this is a no-no.

Well today, even though my hustlin' self knows better, I applied this rookie mistake at a fancy, hidden restaurant in Paris' Montmartre.

The first Sunday of every month, the 5-tabled and cozy La Famille offers a fixed menu of an appetizer, main course and dessert for only ten Euro. (Think Free Burrito Day at Chipotle. Yeah. It's that good.) Initially we were afraid we wouldn't be able to find the restaurant since it rests on one of the small, windy streets under Sacre Coeur, but once we saw the line leading out of the not-yet-opened bistro we realized exactly what kind of deal this dinner actually was. We were actually the closest thing to tourists on that street. (And we're not even touring. We're studying, damn it.)

We waited in line for a half hour. And then another half hour. And then we were standing in the doorway being pushed by impatient and hungry French people for another half hour.

At each of these half hour intervals the four of us debated whether or not we had invested enough time to not be able to back out and go home to our pasta and canned tuna. Someone always ended the discussion with a "but we already waited this long" and that was that. We just kept throwing our chips in the pot.

Maybe the poker experts have it all wrong because that dinner was goo-ood.
The food came hot and each bite held more flavor than anything I've eaten in a long time. Sitting there being served some carroty, crab meaty salad and a lasagna that brought me right back to my childhood just like that scary critic in Ratatouille and a mascarpone aux framboises dessert, we scraped clean our plates and prided ourselves in our Paris Bobo-esque determination.

Sure I love the impressionist art, and yes it's nice to be surrounded by more history than you can imagine. But let's be honest.

This is why I came to Paris.