For Innocents Abroad, a Culinary Adventure

The two 12-year-olds wouldn’t even look at the children’s menu. They airily ordered pate, followed by terrine of rabbit.

The oh-so-attentive waiter raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a word. The girls, faces shining and dressed in their version of high fashion--skirts and high-heeled sandals--were too busy trying on their adult personas to notice.

It was one of those moments I wanted to hold onto forever.

We were sitting at a round table covered by a snowy white cloth at Bofinger, one of Paris’ most historic and venerated brasseries. All around us people were talking in French. No one minded my brood’s presence.

After a week in France, the kids--my 12-year-old daughter Reggie, her best friend Emily Thomas and 7-year-old Melanie--seemed perfectly at home in such august surroundings. On the way in, they chatted with the oyster shuckers, watching them work amid the display of iced shellfish outside the front door. They oohed and aahed over the famous domed stained-glass ceiling. They were interested in everything, even the old-fashioned wall stencils and light fixtures. No one was sulking. No one was fighting.

Watching them, I realized with a rush everything that’s wonderful about traveling with children--the discovery, the adventure, the fun of seeing them enter and grow comfortable in a different world for the first time. I enjoyed my dinner at my favorite Paris restaurant even more because of them.

Bofinger, for its part, did all it could to make our junior gourmands welcome--from the “menu enfant” to the waiter’s smiles and solicitous service. Wherever we were during our two weeks in France, in small towns as well as in Paris, I was pleasantly surprised at how accommodating restaurants were.

At Bofinger, Melanie had her choice of a juicy hamburger and frites, salmon or duck on the children’s menu. She capped her meal with an oh-so-chocolatey mousse.

At some restaurants, waiters were glad to let the girls share portions or provide a “petite” portion for Melanie when I asked. As a result, the children literally ate their way across France--chocolate croissants for breakfast (which they liked to purchase themselves from the nearest boulangerie), ham sandwiches on crusty French baguettes for lunch and a different gourmet meal every night (seared duck smothered in blackberry sauce, boeuf bourguignon or steak with mustard). They routinely ordered Orangina, a French soft drink now available in the U.S.

Even shopping for groceries was an adventure--with so many varieties of saucissons (sausage) and breakfast cereal, chocolate mousse instead of pudding, cheese, cornichon pickles and seasoned olives.

They’d carefully consider all of the choices for an afternoon snack--chocolate eclair, strawberry tarte Napoleon--and they were charmed when the pastries were handed to them in a box tied with a ribbon.

Their adventure in eating started our first night in France: Our intrepid eaters ordered escargots (snails) and frog legs. They ate every bite, though they declared the frog legs had too many bones.

They tasted wine in Burgundy, and became connoisseurs of different kinds of pate--as well as French ice cream. Banana became a special favorite.

We sampled every variety of French fast food too--hot dogs on baguettes with grilled cheese, miniature quiche and croque-monsieur, the best grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich I’ve ever had.

Of course, our eating adventures were not without gaffes. One day I mistakenly tried to order Melanie the dog’s menu. The waiter laughed, explaining my mistake in French. Our lunch guest explained that so many Frenchmen bring their pooches to restaurants that they don’t want them to go hungry.

We took them to La Coupole, a restaurant that once was a hangout for Hemingway and other American writers. The girls were entranced by the giant platters of fresh seafood being consumed with gusto at tables all around us. Together we cracked crabs, slurped fresh oysters and mussels and ate tiny salty shrimp in the restaurant crowded with Frenchmen.

Frankly, these kids surprised me. I’d worried how we’d manage to survive drawn-out meals. I think they were so pleased to be treated so well--and given the chance to make their own choices and mistakes. Of course, it helped tremendously that there were two 12-year-olds to experiment together. Melanie tried to go along with them, but more often than not, ate frites for dinner.

Of course, everything has its limits. Our last night in Paris, they opted for sushi--a favorite in America--and ate every bit.

Taking the Kids appears the first and third week of every month.